Between the Lies

by Cathy MacPhail

  “Oh come on, Robbie, Abbie’s very pretty.”

  No one ever said that about me, except my mother a long time ago. I blushed, and I never do that. It gave Robbie a good excuse for another snipe. “Would madam require hair and make-up? A lot of make-up? In fact, I don’t think we have that much.”

  But Angus put him in his place. “Get the camera set up, Robbie, or you are out of here.”

  Then he turned to me. “Ok Abbie, let’s get this show on the road.”

  FOUR

  I was sure that I wouldn’t be able to talk, not in front of those cameras. And at first I did freeze, but once I had begun, it just came pouring out. I told them about the message, and speaking to Mr Barr and the police. I urged everyone watching to try to contact Jude.

  “Did it go out live?” I asked Angus.

  “Yeah,” he said. “It goes out live.”

  “You’re a natural, Abbie,” Robbie said when I finished. He was being sarcastic. “But I can’t figure why she messaged you, of all people.”

  I had come up with an even more logical answer to that.

  “Maybe I’m just the first name on her speed dial. ‘A’ is for Abbie?”

  Robbie shrugged. “Oh well, you’ve now made your first step into stardom. It’ll be ‘I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here’ next.”

  By the time I left the studio my face was on every screen in the school. My voice echoed from the glass ceiling to the floor. I was surprised by the reaction. And pleased.

  “That was a great idea, Abbie.”

  “I wondered what that blinking studio was for; now I know.”

  And even, “You look terrific on screen.”

  Me, getting compliments?

  And everywhere, people were messaging and posting. They were reaching out to Jude.

  But by the end of the day, no one had had a reply. And by the end of the day, I had had another idea.

  When the bell rings, everyone floods out as if the school is on fire. They can’t escape quick enough. That day, I hovered by the gates. I took off my school tie, and I tied it around the iron railings.

  Someone behind me called out, “What are you doing?”

  I looked back. It was one of the sixth-year boys. “It’s for Jude!”

  He laughed. And he whipped off his tie and fastened it beside mine. He shouted out to friends: “Where’s your tie?”

  Within minutes the gate was festooned, the ties flying like standards in the wind. Our school colours are maroon and yellow, and they looked really bright on that grey day.

  I shouted out, “Take photos! Send them to Jude! Hashtag: ComeHomeJude.” Seconds later all the phones were flashing.

  Robbie came along. “Hey, what’s happening here?”

  I didn’t even answer him. Daft question. It was obvious what was going on. A group of girls had started making a video of it all. My social media account was a long scroll of maroon-and-yellow-tie pics. #ComeHomeJude

  Robbie hadn’t expected an answer anyway. “You do realise these ties’ll all get nicked overnight? They’ll be on eBay by the morning.”

  “You have a very low opinion of everybody, Robbie.”

  “And you, Mother Teresa? You don’t?”

  I walked past him and bumped right into Andrea and company. I was expecting another insult, but instead I saw Andrea was taking her tie off too. She tried not to look at me, almost as if she was ashamed to be caught joining in. As her tie came off, so did Belinda’s and Tracey’s. They glared at me, defying me to say a word.

  “Mr Barr’ll be raging about this,” Belinda said to nobody in particular. But she tied her tie on the railings anyway.

  ***

  Dad wasn’t home. Nothing unusual there. He sent me a text. He had another union meeting. So when the doorbell rang around seven, I thought it was him, home early for a change, and I opened the door without checking, something he was always warning me not to do. But it wasn’t Dad. It was Jude’s parents.

  I had seen them once in the flesh, at a parents’ meeting at the school. They looked the same on the front step as they had then. Matching Berghaus jackets and wellies. I remember Jude being mortified when they walked into the class.

  Jude’s mum just about fell through the doorway in her eagerness to get to me. She grabbed my shoulders. “Has she been in touch again? Did she say where she is?” She looked as if she’d been crying for days.

  Her husband helped her to a chair. “I’m sorry, barging in like this. But we had to come. The police told us you had a message from Jude.”

  “Can I see the message?”

  I handed them my phone and Mrs Tremayne read it over and over, and then she held the phone to her chest, as if she could feel the beating heart of her daughter through it. She was crying so hard I felt like crying too.

  “I’ve not had any more messages. If I do, I’ll contact you right away.”

  “At least we know she’s all right,” she said through her sobs. “If she is. She wants to come home… Why doesn’t she then?”

  I couldn’t answer her. “I don’t know,” was all I said.

  Mrs Tremayne was talking as if she needed to explain. “We’d had a silly argument, that was all. I don’t even know how it started.” She looked at her husband.

  “It wasn’t my fault, Ruth,” he said, and it was clear it wasn’t the first time he’d said it, and it wouldn’t be the last.

  Mrs Tremayne shook her head. “I know. I just wish we hadn’t argued with her at all.”

  “We put it down to her age, her mood,” Mr Tremayne went on, as if I deserved an explanation.

  His wife leaned across and touched my hand. “I want to tell her, whatever we did, we’re sorry. Can you send a message saying that to her?”

  “I’ve tried sending messages. They’re never delivered.” But even as I spoke I was typing it in. I showed Mrs Tremayne. Under the message:

  “Why did she send a message to you… and not us?”

  “I don’t know. I hardly talked to Jude at school.”

  Mr Tremayne sat on the arm of the chair, comforting his wife. “She thought we were too strict. Too many rules and regulations. We weren’t fun like other parents. She thought we were the most boring parents in the world.”

  “But there was something else going on,” Mrs Tremayne continued. “Something at the school. She was being secretive, always hiding her phone as if she was afraid we’d see something on it. Was she being bullied? Do you know, Abbie?”

  It would have been the wrong time to point out that Jude ran with the crowd more likely to do the bullying.

  “As a favour, Abbie,” her dad asked, “please would you try to find out? Your friends are more likely to tell you than the police. You might uncover the reason she ran away.”

  He didn’t want it to be their fault. He needed assurance it wasn’t his fault.

  I could only agree. “I’ll do my best.”

  FIVE

  I saw the television van as soon as the bus approached school next morning. There was a journalist, and a cameraman with his camera trained along the school gates. Everyone on the bus got excited.

  “It’s that Sara Flynn!” someone shouted. And they all surged towards the windows for a closer look.

  Sara Flynn, the most high-profile news reporter on tv (well, at least in Scotland) was here at our school. Of course when the bus stopped, no one headed into the school building. They all made a beeline for the gates.

  “This is wonderful!” Sara Flynn said. She was in full make-up on this blustery morning, her red hair perfect, not even moving in the wind. “Is Abbie Kerr here?”

  I found myself being pushed to the front, though I struggled against it. Then I was facing the lovely Sara. “So I believe this was all your idea?” Her free hand waved along the line of ties on the railings.

  I took a deep breath. “It’s just to show Jude. Everyone sent photos to her, and uploaded them to all our accounts – the hashtag is ComeHomeJude. I thought if she saw this, she’d k
now how much we want her back.”

  “And you got a message from her too?”

  “Yes.”

  The school bell rang. I was never so glad to hear it. I could feel myself beginning to sweat and I didn’t want any more of her questions.

  “Come on, Abbie,” a voice called out. “Can we have a pic?” It was a photographer from the local paper.

  Sara Flynn said, “You should be very proud of this, Abbie.”

  “The girl done good,” someone shouted.

  I smiled and a camera flashed.

  ***

  Mr Barr came to speak to me almost as soon as I went inside. I was expecting him to go on at me about the ties on the gates. Instead he beamed at me. “You’re getting us very good publicity, Abbie,” he said. “I’ve had a call from that Sara Flynn complimenting me on the way the pupils are rallying around for Judith. She wants an interview later.”

  “You don’t mind the ties, sir?”

  He dismissed the very idea with a wave of his hand. “If the parents don’t object, why should I? Hopefully it will only be for a day or two.”

  “Yes, a day or two,” I agreed. “Would it be alright if I used the studio feed again, sir?”

  I began to explain about the Tremaynes coming to my house, but it seemed I didn’t need a reason or an excuse. “Of course, if it’s going to help bring Judith back, what can I say? You’re doing great, Abbie.”

  So during lunch break I went back to the studio. Unfortunately, Robbie was there too. “Ah, she has returned. The star of the show.”

  I brushed past him. “You’re only allowed in here during lunch because you’re barred from anywhere else in the school.”

  Angus was there too, having his lunch at one of the desks.

  “What do you want this time?”

  “To tell the school what the police said.”

  “You got the ok from the police for that?”

  “Yes. They’re issuing a statement too.”

  That was a bit of a lie. I hadn’t even asked them.

  Robbie let out a snort of laughter. “Issuing a statement! You’re getting better by the minute, Abbie.”

  Angus snapped at him, “Get the camera ready, Robbie.”

  So, once again, I was on the school news feed. I felt more at ease this time. Jude’s parents had asked me to help: no one could fault me – I was only doing what they wanted. But I was glad Robbie was behind the camera and I couldn’t see his face. I was sure he would be sniggering at me.

  I began by telling them what the police had said. “The good news is they’re sure Judith’s not far. She’s somewhere in the area. She wants to come home, but they don’t think she’s in any danger. The police think that she’s scared to come home for some reason. And maybe one of us, someone in the school, knows why she really ran away, and why she might be afraid to come back.” My mouth was drying up. I had to pause to take a breath. “Was anyone bullying her? Was she having trouble with anyone in school? If you have any idea, let me know. It will be completely confidential. Just remember: we have to help Judith. And keep using the hashtag: ComeHomeJude.”

  “Where did all that come from?” Robbie asked as soon as it was over. “She was being bullied? Judith Tremayne was being bullied?”

  “I’m only saying what her parents said, what they think. I’m not making anything up.”

  Angus patted me on the back. “You’ll get people talking, Abbie. You are your father’s daughter.”

  My father’s daughter. Dad was always on his high horse about something: marching or protesting or organising strikes. He hadn’t made a lot of friends because of that.

  Robbie waited till Angus was out of earshot before he whispered. “You’re loving this, in’t ye?”

  “I’m just trying to help, right!”

  “People are actually beginning to think you’re awright. You’re pretty cool. The wicked witch has turned into the fairy godmother, eh?” He leaned forward. “I don’t think a leopard can change its spots, hen.”

  “I won’t even answer that, Robbie, it’s so clear you don’t like me, but then, you don’t like anybody, do you?” and I stormed away from him. I wouldn’t let Robbie bother me.

  But he did.

  SIX

  Big Belinda was waiting for me when I went downstairs. We call her Big Belinda because she’s the tallest girl in the school and built like a sumo wrestler. I wouldn’t like to meet her on a dark night… or get on the wrong side of her. And by the look on her red face when she saw me, the wrong side was exactly where I was.

  “Jude was being bullied? Where did you hear that?”

  I tried not to look as scared as I felt. “It was her parents who suggested that, not me.”

  “I hope you’re not trying to imply it was me that was bullying her?”

  “Guilty conscience, Belinda?” Because if anybody was bullying Jude, Big Belinda would be the chief suspect. She bullied just about everybody else in the school.

  “Aye, well I better not be getting the blame for this. Or you’ll be sorry.”

  Still, Angus was right. My broadcast had got everyone talking.

  “She was being awful secretive about something,” one of the girls told me.

  “I saw her hiding her phone from me,” another said. “I thought maybe she was getting abusive messages.”

  And then there were the posts and comments.

  Andrea somehow managed to see that one, and when she did, there really was trouble. She came rushing at me in the corridor. She looked furious. “What did you mean, do we know anything about Jude being bullied? Did you mean me?! I did not bully Jude – she was my friend – she’s still my friend.” With every word she was pushing at me.

  I grabbed her hands and held her away. “If the shoe fits, Andrea…”

  That sent her into a rage. “Me and Jude were ready to make up. Ask anybody.”

  That wasn’t what I had heard, but I just shrugged. “Anything you say, Andrea.”

  And then suddenly the anger seemed to leave her. She was in tears. “Please don’t say Jude and me falling out had anything to do with her running away. We fell out, that was all.” She gripped my jacket as if she was afraid she would fall if she didn’t. “I’m sorry, Abbie. What you said, it made me feel so guilty. And you’re doing all this to find her, and I’m doing nothing. And I’m supposed to be her friend – I feel so bad.” There were murmurs of sympathy round the group that had gathered to watch.

  I could see, though, that she was embarrassing Tracey, who tried to pull her away. “Come on, Andrea. You’re showing yourself up.”

  But Andrea still clung to me. “If there’s anything I can do to help, just ask. If she sends you another message… Tell her I’m sorry, will you, Abbie?”

  Now she was embarrassing me. “I will, Andrea. I will.”

  Tracey got her away at last. She put her arms around her and led her off down the corridor, glaring back at me as they went.

  Robbie stood with me and watched them. “You’ve moved Andrea Glass to tears. Never thought I’d see the day. I don’t like her, you know,” he added, as if I was interested. “She tried to get me chucked off the studio team.”

  “Pity she didn’t succeed,” I said, and walked away.

  ***

  That night I was on the front of the local paper. My photo, my story.

  ST THOMAS GIRL LEADS CAMPAIGN

  “The girl done good!” say the school friends of Abbie Kerr, who has started a social media campaign to contact Judith Tremayne: #ComeHomeJude. Judith has been missing from home and school for over a week. Police say they believe the campaign may help reassure Tremayne, who they have reason to think…

  I hated seeing photos of myself usually. My face always looks too white, my hair too black: I really do look like a Goth. But this photo flattered me – the way I was turning to the camera and smiling. I never smile for a camera. Caught me unawares that one did. The school ties were waving behind me. It was a good article too. Giving me all the
credit for the ties and the publicity about Jude. I even made the television. Sara Flynn, standing in the wind with hair like concrete, talking to me. Clips of it were shared everywhere online: #ComeHomeJude. Dad and I watched it and I could tell how proud he was.

  “That’s a great interview. You said all the right things, Abbie. That Jude should be glad to have you as her friend.”

  What he said made me want to cry. I always wanted to make him proud. Now here I was getting my wish, and all I could do was cry.

  ***

  Next day, as soon as I walked into school, that photograph hit me in the face. There I was on the big screen in the atrium, twenty times real size, smiling down at everyone like some benevolent dictator.

  “You look quite fit, Abbie,” one of the boys shouted, and some of the others started whistling and stamping their feet. I don’t know how to handle compliments like that, so I marched straight off to class, blushing like mad.

  Andrea was waiting for me at the door. I hoped she wasn’t going to cry again. I couldn’t handle that either. “The head’s had me in his office, wanted to know if it was true that I had fallen out with Jude.”

  “I never mentioned your name, Andrea,” I said quickly.

  “No, I know that. It’s because they’re trying to find out why she ran away, and maybe why she’s scared to come back. She might be scared to come back if she was being bullied, mightn’t she?”

  “I didn’t say it was you, Andrea. Honest. I don’t even think she was being bullied.”

  A crowd had gathered round us. Listening to our every word. Probably hoping for a bit of grievous bodily harm.

  “You and Jude used to be best mates, Andrea,” one of the girls said.

  Yeah, Andrea, Jude, Tracey and Big Belinda, always together. And making a point of keeping me out of their precious little circle. Then, just a few weeks ago, Jude was pushed out too.

  “Maybe that’s why she didn’t text you, Andrea.”

  There was a murmur of agreement.