“And where’s Judith now? You must know.”
I was so fed up with being asked that question. “Honest sir, I don’t know where she’s been all week. She wouldn’t tell me. She was meant to come back last night, sir. At the vigil… I don’t know why she didn’t come. That’s all I can tell you.”
“You realise, Abbie, no one is ever going to believe you again.” I kept my eyes down, didn’t want to face him. “And yet, I am going to order you to do one last thing.”
My heart chilled. What was he going to order me to do?
“You’ve abused the facilities of this school for your own ends, and you will certainly never be allowed to use them again.” He paused. “After today. Today you will go from this office to the studio, where you will be filmed apologising to the whole school.”
My legs shook. I wanted to sit down. This was utter humiliation. “I can’t.”
“You can, and you will. I’ve been on the phone to your father and asked his permission, and he agrees it is something you should do.”
My dad had agreed to this?
He went on, “If you could step in front of a camera and ask the whole school to pray for Judith, to look for Judith, to come to a vigil, then it should be just as easy for you to do the same thing to apologise.”
I shook my head. I still couldn’t believe he was going to make me do this.
He stood up. “I was planning to suspend you, Abbie, but you know, I think a worse punishment for you would be coming to school and facing everyone, everyone you have let down, day after day.”
I followed him from his office in silence. My legs were like rubber. Bubbles of air floated in front of my eyes. I was sure I was going to faint. I wanted to leap over the banister and race for the front doors. Yet still I followed him. The corridors were empty. Everyone was in class. I prayed no one would be at the studio. That I could maybe pretend no one was going to see me, or hear me. But that day none of my prayers were answered. Angus was waiting as if he’d known I was coming. Like the hangman knows when a condemned prisoner is led from a cell. He stood up when I came in. He looked nervous.
Even worse, Robbie was there too.
“Have we got to be in the same room as her!” It wasn’t a question. It was a demand. “Phoney bitch.”
“Watch your language, Robbie,” Mr Barr warned him.
“How could you do it, Abbie?” Angus looked disgusted, as if even saying my name put a bad taste in his mouth.
“She wanted to be a star, eh, Abbie? Wee bit of publicity. On television, front page of the paper, eh?” Robbie didn’t know when to shut up.
The head didn’t even stop him this time. All he said was, “She is to be on air for only a few minutes. All she is allowed to do is apologise. Nothing else.”
“And of course, everybody’s gonny believe her apology.” Robbie came closer. “Nobody is ever gonny believe a word you say ever again.”
How different this was to the last time I appeared on the school news feed. I had felt so clever, smug, even knowing I was lying through my teeth and that I was taking everyone in. I didn’t feel smug this time. Now I was so ashamed, contrite. But mixed in with that, I was angry. Judith was as much to blame as I was. Where was she?
Where did it come from, what I said that day? No script. No real warning, yet every word came from the bottom of my heart.
“I want to tell you all how sorry I am about lying to you. I don’t know why Jude and me thought it would be such a great idea. I didn’t realise it would hurt so many people. I knew she was safe, but nobody else did and I should have seen it would hurt her mum and dad especially, and now I don’t know where Jude is and I’m the one who’s scared. I deserve you all to hate me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
It was all I said – all I was allowed to say. Mr Barr drew his finger across his throat to shut me up. The camera clicked off. Only then was I allowed to go, and as soon as I walked into the corridor: instant replay. There was my face, bigger than life, my voice coming from every screen in the school. I couldn’t get away from it.
It was played over and over in a loop every break that day, but my apology made no difference to everyone’s comments online.
FOURTEEN
My nightmare never seemed to end. I had to pass people staring at me, calling me names, pushing against me so I stumbled. I had no one to turn to.
What was the point of apologising? I could almost hear Jude’s voice in my ear: I would have refused to apologise. They can’t make you, you know. You’ve got rights.
Of course I could have just told Mr Barr no. Why didn’t I? Because my dad wanted me to do it, and because I was swamped with guilt at what we’d done, Jude and me. It was meant to be a stupid prank, a game that would make us both famous. How could we not have realised how cruel it would be?
I tried to console myself that it had been Jude’s plan, right from the beginning. It was Jude who came up with the details. She would pick a fight with her parents, she said. Wouldn’t be difficult, she was always arguing with them. Andrea and the others bullying her, dumping her – that would work as another reason for her disappearance. Girls were always running away for less, she said. “No one even knows we’re friends, so they won’t suspect anything.” I’d always thought Jude was a bit stupid, but she was clever coming up with all this.
I had known nothing about this Creen man, hadn’t even heard of him. That wasn’t my fault. Someone had said Jude thought he was always watching her, and I just passed that on.
But then, Jude always thought she was being watched, being admired, being envied. Swishing her long hair over her shoulder, pouting her lips. How had I ever thought we could be friends? We had nothing in common.
It was me all on my own who had come up with the candlelit vigil and the dramatic moment for her return. All me. And that all failed.
I had been worse than a fool to agree to do what I had done, I had been selfish and cruel and I had let someone manipulate me. But I had been unhappy. As unhappy as Jude. That was my excuse. I had no friends at this school, no one liked me, and Dad…Dad was never there for me.
Had this been Jude’s plan all along: not to appear when she was meant to? So I would be left to face everyone’s anger, alone? I almost hoped that was true, because if it wasn’t… did that mean something awful had happened to her? Where was she?
***
The police weren’t finished with me yet. They came to the house the next day after school. Dad was there, home early for once, but he might as well have been miles away for all he talked to me.
The two officers told me there was a very good chance I would be charged with wasting police time. “It will go to the Procurator Fiscal for his decision. It really all depends on where Judith is, and why she hasn’t come home.”
“Where has she been all this time?”
They were trying to catch me in a lie. I had already told them I didn’t know. “She said she had somewhere safe to go, to stay. That was all she told me.”
“So Judith was in charge of the whole plan? It was all her idea?”
I so wanted to yell: YES! But I had gone along with her plan. I’d put it into action. Deep down I knew deserved as much blame as she did.
“Did neither of you stop to think what this would do to her parents?”
I remembered Jude, in a corner of a cafe in Kilmacolm. We had taken separate buses to get there, far away from where anyone knew us. “My mum and dad deserve it, Abbie,” she had said. “They’ve hurt me so much, and I don’t think they really care about me any more.”
She’d even cried.
Now that I had met her parents, I knew they were nothing like how Jude had painted them.
I had to hold back my tears, because if Jude’s crying back there in Kilmacolm seemed false to me now, how phoney would my tears look to the police?
I felt sick by the time they left. Dad and I ate our dinner in silence. He couldn’t talk to me. There was nothing to say; I had told him everything I could
and no amount of sorry would ever be enough to make things better.
If Jude would just come back, we could at least share the blame. I tossed and turned all that night. What if she couldn’t come back? A chill ran through me every time I thought of that. What if something really awful had happened to her? Would I ever sleep again?
***
Next day at school I was a laughing stock. As soon as I walked in through the entrance I could see why.
The photo I had been so proud of, the one of me on the front page of the local paper, was up on the big screen, and somebody had messed my face right up. It showed me with blackened teeth and a Hitler moustache. My eyes had been darkened so I looked sinister and evil. The photo was taken down, reluctantly I’m sure, before lunchtime. And I was just as sure that Robbie was behind it. Always clever with I.T.
But that photo coming down didn’t make things any better for me. One of the fourth-year boys stormed up to me as I waited in the cafe queue at lunch. He had a group of friends with him who looked as angry as he did.
He pulled me round to face him. “Where is she? Where’s that blinkin’ Jude Tremayne? Tell her to get back here!”
I shook my head. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know. I wish I did. I would tell you if I did.”
“My wee uncle’s under suspicion. The police have had him in for questioning.” It was Josh Creen, William Creen’s nephew. I vaguely remembered the name. “And he will be under suspicion until she comes back. So you get her here!” He lifted his fist. “If I could beat the information out of you, I would.” He looked around. “And nobody would stop me.”
One of his friends pulled him away. “She’s not worth it.”
But he was still shouting: “You’re going to get what’s coming to you for this, Abbie Kerr! You hear me? You’re going to be sorry.”
Everyone sitting in the cafe looked more amused than outraged. Josh was right. He could have beaten me to a pulp and no one would have stopped him. I got my lunch and carried my tray up to an empty table. I had no choice anyway. No one moved to let me sit with them.
I looked around the cafe as I played with my macaroni cheese. Only a few days ago they were all surrounding me with their friendship, relying on me for answers. I had felt like a leader. And now?
They hated me.
Tracey was walking up toward me, and she was actually smiling. Was someone going to understand what I was going through?
She stopped at my table. “Are you ok, Abbie?”
I was so grateful for her concern I could only smile back. She leaned down to me, touched my hand. “I just wanted to say… enjoy your lunch.”
And she spat on my plate.
FIFTEEN
Over the next couple of days I grew to understand why teenagers commit suicide. They were the worst days of my life. At least when my mum died I had people to comfort me. My Auntie Ellen was always there for me. She’s my mum’s sister and another of the reasons we moved to Port Glasgow. She lives in Gourock, just down the river. I so wished she was here now, but she was off on some long adventure holiday in the Australian outback. I couldn’t even call her. Would I want to? No, in a way I was glad she wasn’t here. I’d be too ashamed to talk to her.
I had no one. No friends, my dad ignoring me. It seemed only the media were interested in me. There were constant phone calls and messages asking for interviews. When calls came at home, Dad wouldn’t even speak, he’d just slam the phone down angrily, then glare at me. I dreaded seeing the papers. Sara Flynn was still trying to get in touch. I had heard she was almost camping outside Jude’s house now, waiting for her return. I was sure I would be charged with wasting police time. But if Jude came back, at least she would be charged too.
I was getting texts from Mrs Tremayne:
It would all have died down, except Jude was still missing. And that’s what stopped me thinking seriously about suicide. I couldn’t die without knowing why she hadn’t come back.
I saw Mr and Mrs Tremayne on television at yet another press conference, begging for their daughter’s return. I cried as I watched them.
“Judith, if you can hear me, please come back. We love you, we won’t blame you for anything. Just come home.”
Was she listening, watching them? William Creen was on the news bulletin too, shown coming out of the police station, chalk white, eyes down. “Helping police with their enquiries.”
***
“Did you see Jude’s mum on telly last night?” Andrea grabbed me as soon as I walked in through the school entrance. Tracey and Belinda closed ranks around her. “Does that make you feel proud?”
I managed to get away from them, but as I walked up the stairs to my first class it occurred to me that Jude was seen as a victim. She wasn’t being blamed for anything. She’d been my partner in crime, but nobody was blaming her. Just me.
I was in class when my phone buzzed in my pocket. Someone was sending me a text. Probably Sara Flynn, asking again for an interview. I didn’t take the phone out till class was over and I was in the corridor. And then I checked who it was from. It just said ‘UNKNOWN’.
SIXTEEN
The phone shook in my trembling hand. My head swam.
Of course I tried to call back, send another message, but it was no good. No caller ID. Unknown.
Why wasn’t she using her own phone? Whose phone was the message coming from? Was it really Jude?
I didn’t even realise I was running, pushing past annoyed pupils, taking the stairs two at a time, rushing for the head’s office. I was vaguely aware of the strange looks I was getting as I ran. I was breathing heavily, my stomach was doing somersaults. I must have looked like I was crazy. I didn’t knock. I barged right past his secretary and pushed my way into Mr Barr’s office.
“What do you think you’re doing, Abbie?” The secretary jumped up, but I was already in. Mr Barr sat at his desk, papers spread out around him. He looked up and I held the phone right in his face.
“Look! Look what I just got! It’s from Jude.”
He took the phone in his thick stubby fingers, held it at a distance as if he might catch something from it. He read the message. Must have read it twice considering how long it took him to turn his eyes and look back at me.
“Is this another of your practical jokes?”
“No sir. It’s Jude, she says she needs help.”
“Really.” His voice was calm and cold. “You think we’re going to fall for that one again?”
How could I make him believe me? “It is Jude.” Did I sound convincing? “It must be. It has to be her.”
“Conveniently coming from an unknown number.”
“Maybe…” I was trying to think of an explanation. “Maybe she lost her own phone, maybe this is the only one she could get.” Even to me it sounded weak.
“So she loses her own phone, but manages to find another, or perhaps she bought it somewhere? Or, more likely, you’ve had someone send you a message from an unknown number.”
He handed me back the phone.
“Do you think anyone would do that for me?” Did he forget I was the hated Abbie Kerr? I tried to keep calm, but I couldn’t let it go. “What if it is Jude? She needs help. We’ve got to do something.”
“Too bad she didn’t leave a number then.” He stood up. “I’ll let this go this time, Abbie. But this better be the last.”
The secretary was ushering me out.
“Jude’s still missing; we can’t take any chances.”
But it was no good. “Ever heard of the boy who cried wolf, Abbie?”
I stumbled to my next class. I wanted to blurt out to everyone about the text, but I knew their reaction would be the same as the head’s. They’d say it was another hoax.
After school, I missed the bus, and I ran all the way home down the long winding road to the shore while October darkness gathered about me. Someone had to believe me. I prayed my dad would be home from work. I’d show him the text. He would do something.
I was so
relieved to see his car in the drive. I burst into the house. He was in the living room reading the paper. “Dad, Dad, look what I got.”
I showed him the message, and stood trembling while he read it. His face betrayed nothing. It could have been made of stone.
“Is this the second part of your cunning plan?” he asked.
“What plan?”
“Well, first she goes missing, and you say she’s coming back, and she doesn’t, so then she really is missing. Then: Abracadabra! Another message. Help me! And you can be the hero who finds her again?”
“This is for real, Dad. Honest.”
I’d never seen my dad look at me with such disgust before. “I wish I could believe you, Abbie. But if I don’t, no one else will. And at the moment I’m having a hard time believing anything you say.”
I wouldn’t let it go. “Whether you believe me or not, Jude is still missing. Someone has to take this seriously. I want you to call the police. If you don’t, I’ll do it myself.”
He handed me the phone. “You better call them then.”
The same two police constables who had questioned me before came to the house: a man and a woman. I hardly let them get in before I was rattling off the whole story, pushing the phone at them, desperate to make them believe me. “It has to be Jude. It has to be.”
“Why wouldn’t she use her own phone?”
Same question all the time. Same answer. “I don’t know. Maybe she lost it.” It was their job to follow this up. I bit my lip as I watched them read and reread the text.
“What’s all this?”
The WPC held the phone out to me.
“What?” But I hardly needed to look. I realised what she’d been reading.
She had scrolled through some of the hate messages I had received over the past few days. “They’re all sending them to me. Half the school. More. All the time. I don’t blame them, but… should I have reported it?” Here I was, still thinking they might have a little concern for me.
Between the Lies Page 5
