And my entire world comes crashing down.
2
‘Carey!’ Mum’s voice in my ear startles me awake.
I open my eyes to see her looming over me. She’s in her work suit and half made up, one eye complete with eyeliner and a smudge of pale grey eyeshadow, the other bare.
‘Will you please get up?’ She gives my shoulder an irritated shake.
I grunt and turn over, pulling the duvet over my face. Mum has already opened the curtains and bright sunlight glares in.
‘Please, Carey. And I need you to walk Jamie to school. I’ve got an early meeting.’
‘Why can’t Poppy do it?’ I grumble.
‘She’s not well,’ Mum says. ‘Tummy bug.’
‘Yeah, right.’
‘I have to go.’ I’m still under the duvet but I can hear Mum’s footsteps padding across the room. ‘Come on, Carey, you’ll need to leave in twenty minutes if you’re going to drop Jamie at breakfast club, and make sure you have something to eat.’
‘That’s loads of time,’ I mutter. But Mum has already gone.
I lie still for a few minutes, then shove the duvet off me and get up with a groan. I throw on my uniform, then spend five minutes working product through my hair. Unlike anyone else in my family I’ve got wildly curly hair and it has to be tamed every morning. I’m just finishing when Jamie bursts in and leaps onto my bed, jumping up and down and waving a plastic sword.
Did I mention Jamie’s obsessed with a video game called Warriors of the Doom Wood? There’s a cartoon as well, even a boring movie which Mum and I took him to over the summer.
‘I’ll be Sir Tamwin Star, you can be Lady Pretzel-loser.’ Jamie wields the sword, his cheeks dimpling as he smiles.
‘Pretzel-loser?’ I grin. ‘Are you sure you’ve got that right?’
‘Whatever.’ Jamie spins around on the bed, flourishing his sword again. ‘Get away from her, you fiend!’ he shrieks in a mock posh lord accent.
‘Aaagh!’ I shrink away, playing along in imaginary peril.
A thump on the wall that divides my room from Poppy’s. ‘Be quiet!’ comes her muffled yell. ‘I’m not well.’
I roll my eyes. She might fool Mum but as far as I’m concerned there’s nothing wrong with my sister – not physically at least. Her so-called tummy upset is all about George dumping her. ‘Come on, Jamie, let’s go.’
With a roar my little brother jumps to the floor and races out the door. As I pick up my school bag my eye is caught again by the open laptop on my desk. I shut the lid, my mind flitting back to last night when I’d been certain that I’d closed it before I snuck out.
‘Carey!’ Jamie calls from downstairs. ‘Come on!’
‘All right! I’m coming!’ I yell back and the laptop mystery flits from my mind as I hurry out of my room.
I can tell something’s wrong the moment I walk into my form room. I spot Amelia straightaway. She’s sitting on the table by the window, surrounded by girls. She’s nodding as Rose, her shiny brown bob swinging as she speaks, says something in a low, serious voice. Rose is one of the most popular girls in our class. Not that I’m a big fan myself. Most people think she’s lovely but to me she’s one of those girls who make out they’re your friend, but who you’re never really sure of. She’s in The Sound of Music with me, as Mother Superior. That’s basically Maria’s boss when she’s a nun at the start of the story. I’m pretty sure Rose wanted to be Maria. She’s been all gushy to my face about how good I am, but I sense she resents me getting the role. She clocks me as I hurry over and her back stiffens. All the girls she’s with are speaking at once.
‘Unbelievable.’
‘Who the hell is SweetFreak anyway?’
‘Gone too far.’
The only one not talking is Amelia. She meets my gaze, tears welling as she sees the concern on my face.
‘Look.’ She holds out her phone.
The girls turn, acknowledging me with nods and grimaces. I’m certain – though it sounds mean to say it – that they’re only surrounding Amelia for the drama.
‘It’s really bad, Carey,’ Rose says with a solemn sigh. ‘Poor Amelia.’
I brace myself for another mean, mocking, manipulated NatterSnap image, like the three Amelia has already received this week. But this time the post on the screen is so shocking that my breath actually hitches in my throat. It’s the same photo of Amelia as in the pig-face video, but in this film her eyes have been manipulated to look wide and terrified and a long, serrated knife is being drawn slowly along her throat. As the skin is slashed through, blood pours out. The post with the video says:
SweetFreak 13m ago
Can’t wait til you’re dead, Princess. Can’t wait til I kill you.
The whole effect, like all NatterSnap stuff, is made worse by being so sickeningly realistic.
I shiver and hand back the phone. ‘This is from SweetFreak again?’ I ask.
Amelia nods. Her face is pale, her red-rimmed eyes as unhappy as I’ve ever seen them.
‘I can’t believe she’d go this far,’ I say. It sounds hollow. Insufficient to the nastiness of the post. Because we’re all used to snide, mean messages but this one is in a different league altogether.
The other girls start talking all at once again. Amelia gives me a puzzled look, then her face crumples and she holds out her arms for me to hug her. Which I do, obviously. Truth is I’m shaken. I’ve never seen anything as vicious as this before. ‘Have you told anyone?’ I say, my mouth close to Amelia’s ear. I mean one of Amelia’s super-busy parents. She lives with her mum and stepdad and sees her dad every other week. The three of them make Mum’s working life look like a part-time hobby.
‘I’ve told Mrs Marchington,’ Rose interjects bossily. ‘She should be—’
‘Girls, stand back, please. Let me through.’ The brisk tones of our form teacher echo over our heads.
Mrs Marchington is not a teacher you mess with, so we scatter. I step away from Amelia, but not too far. I am her best friend, after all. Mrs Marchington sweeps across the room. Amelia holds out her phone and the teacher takes it. Her face betrays little emotion as she gazes at the screen, but there’s a tightening around her lips and she blinks rapidly.
‘Come with me, Amelia,’ she orders.
Obediently, Amelia follows the teacher out of the room. The girls who were with Amelia when I arrived erupt into hushed, gossipy whispers again, most of which focus on the potential identity of SweetFreak. I would probably have joined in, but at that very moment, Heath Sixsmith strides in.
Heath is playing Captain von Trapp, the male lead in The Sound of Music. Lots of heads turn as he walks towards me – he is tall with dark blond hair and chiselled cheekbones and everyone thinks he is the best-looking boy in our year.
‘Hi, Carey,’ he says with a warm smile. He starts telling me about an extra rehearsal lined up for lunch break. I’m not really listening. Mostly I’m worrying about poor Amelia but, if I’m honest, I’m also enjoying the looks I’m getting from across the room. Rose is definitely jealous. Her dark eyes glint as she stares at us, then she catches me watching and flicks back her hair in self-consciously casual fashion. One of the girls in her group says something and Rose nods, suddenly looking very interested in what the girl is saying. Yeah, right. Normally Rose is only interested in the sound of her own voice. She has a little gang of girls who hang on her every word. They even copy her look – shaggy long bob, off-the-shoulder tops and big hoop earrings. Amelia and I call them the Rose Clones.
The memory of the many laughs we’ve had over this brings poor Amelia to the front of my mind again. I wonder how she’s getting on with Mrs Marchington.
‘I don’t mind how many rehearsals we have,’ Heath is saying.
‘Really?’ I ask, tuning back into the conversation.
‘Yeah, I want to be an actor when I leave school,’ Heath says earnestly.
‘Right.’ I shoot a glance sideways. Rose and the Rose Clones are still wa
tching us. Heath doesn’t appear to have noticed. He’s gazing down at me with a big smile on his face, now telling me about his cousin who is already at drama school. Does he fancy me? He’s certainly in no hurry to leave, even though his own form room is on the other side of the school.
Though I’m not interested in him, the thought is kind of gratifying. Out of the corner of my eye I can see a couple of the Rose Clones throwing envious glances in my direction, though Rose herself is now staring at her phone. Heath carries on chatting to me about the play until Mrs Marchington strides back in and he scuttles off.
‘Seats, please,’ Mrs Marchington orders.
I put up my hand. Where’s Amelia? I need to find out if she’s all right.
‘What’s happened to Amelia, miss?’ Rose asks without bothering to put her hand up.
‘Sit down,’ Mrs Marchington snaps, ignoring the question. She glances at me. ‘You too, Carey. Hurry up, everyone.’
I lower my hand and take my seat. Poor Amelia. Most likely she’s been taken to talk to the head. Which she will hate. Maybe it’s for the best. Whoever SweetFreak is, they’ve really got it in for her. Not that our headteacher can do much about what happens online. There’s no proof that the person behind the messages is even at school with us. Still, maybe it will make Amelia feel better to know that it’s being taken seriously.
Amelia doesn’t reappear all morning, not even for Art, which is her favourite class. She’s known for her hand-drawn birthday cards – she’s got a real talent for it and is doing a bigger version as part of her GCSE Art project. I know all the Art stuff is here, at school, and that Amelia has been working on it all hours, so if she’s too upset to have taken it with her things must really be bad.
I call her at break, but it goes straight to voicemail so I send a NatterSnap message asking her to let me know how she is. I attach a gif of a kitten with huge blue eyes. Amelia loves kittens. I hope it cheers her up.
The lunchtime rehearsal for The Sound of Music helps take my mind off her.
, ‘Isn’t it mad I’m supposed to be the dad of the year sevens and eights playing the kids?’ Heath says to me, grinning from ear to ear. ‘I reckon I only got the part cos I’m tall.’
‘Tall and talented,’ I say with a smile.
Heath blushes and I look away, as if I’m a bit embarrassed too for having praised him. I’m trying to pitch myself as slightly more than friendly, but without giving too much encouragement. I’ve got no intention of taking things further with him, but there’s no harm in spinning things out for a bit, especially if it makes Rose jealous. I can’t wait to tell Amelia what’s going on, but she doesn’t call back all afternoon, so I send another text on my way home.
When I get in, Poppy is in her PJs, casting her laptop onto the TV in the living room. Jamie is still at after-school club. Mum will collect him on her way back from work. I grab a cereal bar from the stash in the kitchen cupboard and wander into the living room. When Poppy sees me she turns away.
‘What’s your problem?’ I demand, instantly irritated.
‘You,’ she snaps, turning the volume up.
I can’t be bothered to argue with her. She seriously needs to get over herself. So I traipse up to my room. An hour and a half later Mum and Jamie bustle in and an hour after that I wander downstairs wondering what we’re having for dinner. To my surprise Mum isn’t in the kitchen. She’s in the living room sitting next to Poppy on the sofa. Two police officers sit opposite. All of them have solemn faces, which turn in my direction as I walk in.
‘Oh, Carey.’ Mum stands up. She’s trembling. ‘I was just about to call you down.’
‘What’s happened?’ I gasp. ‘Is it Dad?’
Funny I should immediately think of him. Most of the time I forget about my stupid father. He walked out on us five years ago and apart from the occasional message we never hear from him.
‘No, love.’ Mum bites her lip. ‘Come and sit down.’
I take a seat on the other side of her from Poppy, feeling uncomfortable. The older police officer peers at me intently. He has a saggy, creased face and is dressed in a suit that looks at least a size too big on the shoulders. After a moment’s awkward silence, he clears his throat.
‘I’m DS Carter and this . . .’ He points to the woman beside him. She’s much younger, with short, jet black hair and sharp little eyes. ‘This is DC Kapoor. We’d like to talk to you about a death threat against Amelia Wilson that appeared this morning on the social media platform NatterSnap.’
‘Talk to me?’ I stare at him. Wow, Amelia’s parents must have gone ape over the message. I’m certain Amelia would hate having to talk about it, especially to police officers.
‘The first thing to say is that we have a community initiative with local schools that prioritises early intervention to ensure zero tolerance on this kind of bullying and intimidation.’ DS Carter sounds like he’s learned that off by heart.
Beside him DC Kapoor rolls her eyes. ‘All of which means our precious time is periodically taken up with young people who’ve decided to take private arguments too far and who need to realise there are consequences for such actions.’
‘OK . . .’ I hesitate. ‘I can see why you’d want to follow up that thing Amelia got sent.’ The image of the knife slitting Amelia’s face flashes into my head. I blink it away. ‘But why do you want to talk to me? I don’t know anything.’
There’s a horrible pause. Mum makes a strange noise: a sort of strangled sob. Poppy puts her arm around her.
‘I’m afraid there has to be a bit more to it than that,’ DS Carter carries on. I frown. What does that mean?
‘For goodness sake,’ Poppy snaps. ‘Even if you don’t care about your best friend, how can you do this to Mum?’
‘Do what?’ Exasperation rises inside me. ‘Why don’t you just shut up, Poppy?’
‘Why don’t you—?’
‘Let’s just take a look at what we’re talking about.’ The unsmiling DC Kapoor hands Mum a tablet. It shows a screen grab of the SweetFreak death threat Amelia got this morning. Poppy and I peer over Mum’s shoulders as she swipes the screen to video mode, then presses the play button. On screen Amelia’s eyes widen in horror as the knife makes its slow, tearing way across her throat. Blood spurts out. I gag, bile rising into my mouth. It’s just as horrific as it was the first time.
Mum turns away. ‘Ugh,’ she says. ‘I can’t bear to look at it.’
I glance up at the detective, fear rushing, like cold air, down my back. Do these police officers think I sent Amelia this death threat? ‘I didn’t have anything to do with this,’ I say, my stomach tightening. ‘Amelia’s my best friend.’
‘As the sergeant said, there’s a bit more to it than that.’ DC Kapoor narrows her mean eyes. ‘We’ve traced the sender,’ she says. ‘We know who sent the message.’
The tension in the room reaches an unbearable level. I can feel my cheeks burning. Stupidly I feel guilty, even though I’ve done nothing to be guilty for.
Mum is wringing her hands.
‘I . . . I don’t understand,’ I stammer.
Poppy pushes the tablet across Mum towards me. ‘You did this,’ she growls. ‘That’s what they’re saying, stupid.’
‘No.’ My head spins. I want to articulate the million reasons why it’s impossible that I could have created and sent such a horrible message, but my brain is a scrambled mess.
DC Kapoor hasn’t taken her eyes off me. ‘The message was sent from an IP address located in this house. From a specific computer.’
My jaw drops.
‘Your laptop,’ Mum adds, lips trembling. ‘They’re saying this horrible things came from your laptop.’
‘Which never leaves your bedroom,’ Poppy adds.
‘In other words,’ DC Kapoor says. ‘It looks very strongly as if the death threat came from you, Carey.’
3
I look around the room, at the four faces ranged against me. Both police officers are frowning: tho
ugh DS Carter’s expression registers concern while DC Kapoor is more suspicious.
‘Er, you mentioned your dad earlier, Carey.’ DS Carter turns to Mum. ‘Is he likely to get home soon?’
Poppy snorts.
‘No, he’s not . . . um, we’re not in touch any more,’ Mum says. ‘I wouldn’t even know how to get hold of him.’
‘I didn’t do this,’ I say, aware my burning cheeks must be a guilty shade of bright red.
‘Of course you didn’t,’ Mum says. She turns to the older male officer. ‘Of course she didn’t, Carey’s a good girl.’ She hesitates. ‘I hate to say it, but is it possible Amelia sent the messages to herself, as a way of gaining attention?’
‘We’ve checked all Amelia’s devices and her whereabouts when the message was posted.’ DS Carter pats his notebook, as if to confirm what he’s saying. ‘She’s definitely not responsible.’
‘Well it couldn’t have been Carey,’ Mum insists.
‘It’s not quite that simple,’ DS Carter says apologetically. ‘I understand from Amelia this is just the latest in a series of bullying messages from the same anonymous source.’ He looks up, into my eyes. ‘I also understand, Carey, that you insisted on her deleting those messages?’
‘Yes, but that makes it sound . . .’ I try to focus, my mind skittering over the times this past week that Amelia had showed me what SweetFreak had sent and how I’d kept telling her to ignore it. Just delete it, put it out of your mind. I’d even taken her phone and got rid of the pig-video post myself. ‘I only told her to delete them because they were upsetting her.’
‘I see.’ The detective doesn’t sound convinced. ‘So there hasn’t been any bad feeling between you and Amelia? No falling out over friends or schoolwork or boys?’
‘Amelia is my best friend,’ I insist, my voice rising. ‘I would never do horrible stuff like this.’ I can’t believe the police are basically accusing me of sending the messages. I look down at the video of Amelia’s face, paused as a drip of blood falls from the knife pressed against her neck.
SweetFreak Page 2
