“Seems to me one, or maybe more than one, of your so-called friends is pulling your leg. They shouldn’t be, but we can all understand why it’s happening.”
“Aren’t you even going to investigate? Can’t you take the phone, find out where the text came from?”
“This isn’t the CSI, Abbie. We’re the Greenock polis.”
“You would have before,” I reminded them.
“We believed you before. But we don’t stretch to that, not for a hoax.”
My dad snatched the phone from the policewoman. “Thank you, officers,” he said. “We’ll delete the text, and the other messages here. Any more of this nonsense, Abbie, and I’ll take the phone away from you altogether.”
SEVENTEEN
It was all around the school next day that I had received a text from an unknown number supposedly coming from Jude. How had they found out? Who had told them?
I didn’t know. All I knew was it made things a lot harder for me.
This time it was Belinda who pulled me aside in the corridor. “Not had enough attention? Just want to hurt her family some more. Kiddin’ on you’ve heard from her.”
She wasn’t the only one who ranted at me. Most of the others gathering around her had something to say.
Finally, I let rip. “Jude’s missing. Really missing now. She really does need help this time. We’ve got to do something!”
Belinda had the ugliest laugh I’d ever heard, a big deep-throated laugh that made her sound like a man. “Oh, what do you suggest, Abbie? Ties round the railings? A candlelit vigil? I’d rather tie you round the railings.”
And everyone laughed at her little joke.
Of course they wouldn’t believe me. I was the only one who knew the truth: Jude was supposed to come back and she didn’t. She might really be in trouble now. But how could I help her if no one would listen to me?
I decided to ask Angus. He was older, a really nice guy. He hadn’t been as cruel as the rest when the story of the hoax came out. He was the one person I could think of who might understand and give me some advice at least. I found him at break time in the library. He was sitting with some of the other fifth years. When I approached their table, they either glared at me or just turned their backs, but Angus didn’t.
“Can I talk to you for a minute, Angus?” I motioned for him to move away from the table – I didn’t want the others to hear.
He stood up and stepped toward me. “Is this about the text you got?”
I nodded. “It came from an unknown number, but it said it was from Jude. I don’t know what to do.”
“Have you shown it to the police?”
“Of course.”
“And did they believe you?”
I didn’t have to answer that directly. “I suppose I can’t blame them.”
“No, you can’t,” he agreed.
“But what if she’s really in trouble? How do I help her? What do I do?”
He didn’t say anything for a moment. I hoped he was thinking over my options. Some hope.
“You’ve burned your boats, Abbie. Jude too. Nobody’s going to take the chance that this might be another trick and you’re going to make a fool of everybody again.”
“But this time…” I didn’t get it finished.
Angus shrugged his shoulders and turned back to his friends.
He was right. No matter what text Jude sent, no one was going to believe it was real. If I wanted to help Jude, I could only rely on myself. But how?
Where are you, Jude? I sent up a silent prayer. Please be safe, Jude.
As I left the library, there was Robbie. Had he been waiting for me? How much had he heard? From what he said first, it was clear he had heard enough. “Thought Angus would be a soft touch, eh? Think again. Angus isn’t as daft as he looks.”
“Not as daft looking as you anyway.” I tried to move past him but he blocked my way.
“Abbie, see the number of people in this school who hate you? Who wouldn’t spit on you if you were on fire? I’d stop counting after a hundred. Any of them could have sent you the text. Let me see it?” He held out his hand for my phone. I hesitated, and his face broke into a slow smile. “Ah, if there even was a text. Make that up as well, did you?”
I shouted at him. “I showed it to the head, to my dad, the police.”
He beckoned me with his fingers. “Come on then. Show us.”
I couldn’t look him in the eye. “My dad made me delete all my texts and messages. Right!”
There was something dark in his smile now. Something vicious. A Robbie smile I had not seen before. “How handy. The disappearing text. Know what you need, Abbie?” His face came close to mine. “A taste of your own medicine. See how you like it.”
He knocked against me as he walked past. “Make sure you let us know the next time you don’t get a text.”
I was beginning to think I had imagined it myself. Had there ever been a text at all?
Dad had made me delete all my messages, but more kept flooding in.
It got me thinking that maybe the police were right. Maybe the text was from another pupil, more than one. Possibly all of them.
Who hated me? Ha! What had Robbie said? Stop counting after a hundred.
But that night I tossed and turned. Because even if the text was a hoax on me, Jude was still missing. Why had she changed our plan? If she’d come back when she was meant to, it would have worked perfectly. She, the prodigal daughter would have been welcomed with open arms, and I’d have been the heroine of the day, and together we’d be famous, just like she’d wanted. It had all seemed so simple. (How could I not have seen it would be cruel?) Something must have stopped her, something kept her from coming back that night.
Still, she could send a message to anyone, to everyone, ten different kinds of messages, and if she was genuinely in trouble she could call her own parents. So why would she contact me?
Sometime in the middle of the night, the ping on the phone woke me. I snatched it up from my bedside table. The text seemed to stand out in metre-high illuminated letters.
EIGHTEEN
I almost flew out of bed ready to run into Dad’s room. Stopped dead before I reached the door. I remembered Dad’s words. He had warned me that he would take my phone away if I mentioned anything like this again. I could see him deleting this text too. Then no one would believe there had ever been one.
I sat on the edge of the bed while darkness gave way to the dull grey light of a Scottish morning, and I tried to work out what I should do. There were only two people who were so desperate for news that they would jump at anything, every chance of gaining any scrap of information about their daughter: Jude’s mum and dad. I made my decision. I would take the phone to them. They would know someone who could perhaps trace the text. People were so anxious to help them, they could easily find an expert. And then they would find Jude, and maybe, just maybe, this terrible burden of guilt would be lifted from me. Or would at least be shared.
Usually, Dad went off to work, and I left a little after him to catch my bus. But that day I didn’t head for the bus stop. Instead, I made my way to Jude’s house. I knew I was the last person her mum and dad wanted to see, but I had to make them listen, and when they did, when they saw the text, they would be grateful. Taking the shortcut through the back lanes and the waste ground, it only took ten minutes. I slouched through the rain with my hood pulled up over my head. I didn’t want any of the neighbours recognising me.
The last time I had been on Jude’s street, flames had glowed in the darkness, sparks had risen to the midnight-blue sky. Mrs Tremayne had hugged me and called me a heroine and told me to call her Ruth. I had seen nothing but warmth and admiration in everyone’s eyes.
It could have been such a wonderful memory, but I knew, too, how guilty I had felt. Because it was all a lie, I was fooling everyone and I hated myself for it. I had prayed for the moment when Jude would appear through the crowd and it would all be over.
To
day an ice-cold wind ruffled the river. The sky was battleship grey. I hoped one of her parents would be in, that they hadn’t both gone off to work. My hands shook as I reached for the doorbell. I heard it ring out through the house, and with trembling fingers I clicked on the text on my phone, opened it, ready to show them. I needed to make sure it was still there. I planned to hold it out before they could slam the door in my face.
It was Mr Tremayne who opened the door. He saw me, and drew back. “Not you. You’ve been warned to stay away from us.”
I shoved the phone in his face. “Jude’s been texting me. Look!”
“I don’t want any more of your lies.”
“They’re not lies, not this time. Look. This is the second text I’ve had. It has to be Jude.”
Mrs Tremayne came rushing down the stairs to the door. “I know that voice. Get the hell away from here.”
But her husband had had time to think. He had taken the phone from me. He was studying the text. I could see his mind ticking over. Could this be Judith? Or was it another trick?
He didn’t flinch as Mrs Tremayne hauled him aside to get at me. “How dare you come back here?”
I was sure she was about to slap me. I stepped back. “I’ve had a text from Jude.”
“Another lie! Another lie!” she screamed at me. There was a sob in her voice and dark circles under her eyes. She looked as if she hadn’t slept in days. No make‑up, her skin grey, her hair unkempt.
What had we done to this poor woman, me and Jude?
“I’m not lying, and I can’t know if it is definitely Jude, but it says it is, and I had to come and show you… just in case.”
“It says UNKNOWN.” Mr Tremayne’s voice was flat. He handed the phone to his wife. “We should take it to the police.”
I was reluctant to tell them, but had no choice. “They won’t help. I showed them the last one and they didn’t believe it was real.”
“There’s been more than one? And you didn’t come and tell us?”
“Just the one, and I took it to the police.”
“Is this a trick, Abbie? Because we can’t take any more.”
“No, no.” I wanted to cry. I didn’t blame them thinking what they were thinking. Still, I knew they would cling to any hope.
“Come in.” Mr Tremayne stood aside to let me pass, and when his wife objected he stopped her with a gentle touch on her lips. “We can’t take any chances.”
For the first time, I felt I had done the right thing. I walked into their living room. I didn’t sit down. I wasn’t offered a seat anyway. I stood with my back against the wall while Mr Tremayne called the police. He took the phone into the kitchen so all I heard was a mumble of words. A few minutes later he came out. “They’re going to take the phone and see if they can find out anything from it.” He looked at me coldly. “They’re doing this very reluctantly. They don’t believe it’s real. They think it’s some pupils hoaxing you. Just as you hoaxed them.”
“I know.”
“They’re doing this for us. Last resort. But if you’re lying, Abbie…”
“No. Honest. I don’t know if it is Jude, but if it is she might really need help.”
Mrs Tremayne let out a little gasp and sank bonelessly down on the chair. “Oh my God.”
Almost at that same moment the doorbell rang again.
The police here so soon?
Mr Tremayne hurried to answer it. I saw him take a step back when he took in who it was.
Sara Flynn, with her trusty cameramen beside her, already filming. Of course – hadn’t I heard they were practically parked on the Tremayne’s doorstep?
“What are you doing here?” Mr Tremayne asked.
Sara Flynn didn’t answer. She peered into the house and saw me. She didn’t look surprised. She’d obviously spotted me coming in. “Is this about the text? It was all over social media yesterday.”
She was talking about that first text. She couldn’t know about the second.
Mrs Tremayne grabbed my arm so tightly it hurt. “Is this why you’re doing this? You want back on television. Is this what this is all about?”
“No!” I pulled myself free of her and made for the door. “Go away. Please,” I told Sara. I stepped outside, kept trying to push her away.
Sara looked beyond me to Jude’s mum. “Do you believe the text is from your daughter, Mrs Tremayne?”
It was Mr Tremayne who answered. You could see he was holding in his anger. “I’d really like you to go.”
I was on the path now, outside the house, and Sara Flynn had stepped outside with me. But there was some kind of commotion at the end of the street – shouts and yells – and both of us turned to look.
Neighbours were already at their doors, they’d seen the tv people arriving and going into the house. It was those neighbours who saw her first. They were the ones who were shouting.
Then we all looked. Mrs Tremayne pulled me aside so she could see.
There, stumbling down the street, looking bedraggled and upset, was Jude.
NINETEEN
I was in a silent movie. I could hear nothing – not the traffic passing, not Mrs Tremayne’s scream as she ran past me. I saw papers cartwheeling down the street in the wind, a couple of seagulls fighting over some chips dropped on the pavement. Sara Flynn running after Mrs Tremayne, the cameraman behind her at the ready.
And I saw Jude.
She seemed to be walking in slow motion. Her hair was wild, flying all around her, her face looked dirty. She didn’t so much walk as stagger, and by the time her mother caught up with her, Jude seemed to collapse into her arms. Then her dad was there, cradling both of them, leading them home.
And Sara Flynn captured it all for the lunchtime news. Some of the neighbours had their phones out filming too.
The family seemed unaware of anyone else. Jude was nestled in her mother’s arms. Neighbours began to applaud.
I stepped back into the house. I thought I’d be shaking but I was so calm. The tears were streaming down my face, but I was calm. She was back. She was safe. It really was over now – that was all I could think. No one noticed me as they came inside. I tried to melt into the wall, hoping they wouldn’t see me and ask me to leave. Surely I had every right to be here? To find out why she hadn’t come back when she was supposed to, and where she’d been all the time she’d been away.
Sara Flynn followed them in, cameraman behind her with his camera still running. It took a moment for Jude’s dad to realise she was there. He held up his hands. “Please, just go.”
It was his wife who stopped him. “No. Let them stay. I want everyone to know she’s back, and how relieved we are and,” her voice broke into a sob, “how happy she’s safe, and to thank everyone for their prayers and good wishes.” Saying it seemed to exhaust her. She sank back on the sofa beside Jude. “But why Jude, why? How could you hurt us like this?”
Her father stepped in again. “Please stop filming, this is priva—” he didn’t get to finish.
“I didn’t want to, Mum. I didn’t. I’m so sorry.”
I should have shut up then, not said a word. They had forgotten me. I should have made sure it stayed that way. But no, I had to open my mouth. “I’ve told them Jude, they know everything. I’ve told them how sorry we are.” I stepped forward. “But why didn’t you come back when you were supposed to?”
It was as if she hadn’t seen me before. She looked at me, her eyes went wide; her mouth fell open. “What? What is she doing here?” she gripped her mother’s hand. “What are you talking about, Abbie Kerr?”
“I came about the text you sent, Jude. I wanted your mum and dad to see it; I wanted to help you.”
“Text? What text?”
Her dad still had my phone. I nodded toward him. “The text you sent me. HELP ME ABBIE?”
“I didn’t send you any text.”
Her mother pulled her closer. “It doesn’t matter, Jude. You’re home.”
No. It didn’t matter. Jude w
as home. I didn’t care about the text any more. “It must have been somebody winding me up then… But why didn’t you come back, Jude?”
“You’re asking me that?” she clung to her mother’s arm, looked up into her eyes. “It was her that made me do it, Mum. It was all her idea.” She got to her feet, unsteadily, though her mother tried to hold her down. “The only text I sent her was to say I wanted to come home… and she told me not to come back, she warned me.” She moved toward me with such anger on her tear‑stained face. “What have you been saying, Abbie?”
“I didn’t warn you not to come back. That’s a lie. Why are you saying that? Who were you afraid of, Jude?”
Her voice became almost hysterical. “Afraid of? Afraid of?” She pointed her finger right at me. “The only person I’ve ever been afraid of… is YOU!”
TWENTY
Now I was the one who was angry. This was all too much. “Afraid of me? You’re talking bollocks. That’s a lie. You know that.”
“It was all her idea, Mum. She knew I was so unhappy about the girls falling out with me. She said we could make them sorry. She said it would make us famous. That’s what she said.” Jude was crying, but they were crocodile tears, I knew that now. “I should have said no, but I was scared to go against her. Then when I saw you and Dad on television and saw how it hurt you, Mum, I begged to come home. You must have known that when you saw the text: I want to come home. That’s why I sent it. But she wouldn’t let me.”
I couldn’t take in what I was hearing. Where was all this coming from?
Her mum was sitting her down again. “I know you were angry at us, I’m so sorry, we shouldn’t have argued with you.” I couldn’t believe Mrs Tremayne was apologising. While Jude was lying through her teeth! I felt as if I’d fallen into some kind of alternative universe where nothing made sense.
Between the Lies Page 6
