The Lost Girls: Maggie Turner Suspense Series book #1

by Pryke, Helen

  This was her place, her safe haven, at least until the brat came to bed as well and started moving around on the top bunk, springs creaking as she tried to get comfortable. Then Jane would sleep fitfully until the morning, when it would start all over again, unrelenting. Get the brat up, sort breakfast, school, home, get tea ready, fight with her parents, go to bed and do her homework. Every day the same, every day worse than the one before.

  * * *

  Jane ran for the bus, her hair flying everywhere, her rucksack bumping painfully against her back. Late again, thanks to her stupid sister hiding her geography book. She’d already had two notes for forgetting her books, a third one would mean a meeting with the headmistress. Her blouse was coming untucked from her skirt, the air cool on her sweaty skin. She sobbed as she saw the bus slowly move away from the kerb, its indicator flicking on and off as if to mock her.

  They were there, as usual, all lined up on the back seat, jeering at her as she picked up speed in a final, desperate attempt to reach the bus. She saw one of them turn and yell something, and almost wept when the brake lights lit up and the bus jerked to a halt.

  She clambered on, panting heavily, aware that her hair was stuck to her forehead. Curly and unruly, she could only imagine what she looked like. She stumbled along the aisle, avoiding feet slyly slipped in front of her to trip her up, and threw herself down into an empty seat.

  ‘Plain Jane, late again,’ the group of kids chanted from the back of the bus, laughing and jeering. She lowered herself as much as possible into her seat, trying to ignore them. She wiped a hand across her brow, desperately hoping she didn’t have big, blotchy stains under her armpits but pretty sure she did.

  ‘Oi, Jane, you training for the London marathon?’ a boy shouted. The others burst out laughing. ‘Only I don’t think you’re going to get very far if you run like a giraffe on stilts!’

  Mark Watson. Jane fixed her eyes on the back of the seat in front, glad no one was sitting beside her. Heads turned to stare, some curious, others with wide grins plastered across their stupid faces. She clenched her fists, wishing she had the guts to go and punch every single one of them. Then they’d learn. A smile came to her lips as she imagined the others bent over in pain, clutching their noses as blood streamed between their fingers. As for Mark, she’d keep a special treatment for him. Oh yes… Their taunting jeers washed over her as she lost herself in her thoughts of revenge.

  * * *

  ‘Jane Simmons.’ Mr McCreedy’s voice broke through the fog of tiredness in Jane’s head, making her jump. ‘Ah, so you are still with us?’ Sniggers sounded around the classroom. ‘I was telling the class about coffee production in Brazil, can you enlighten us further?’

  Jane blinked and rubbed her eyes, furious that she’d drifted off yet again in class. The teachers never missed a chance to make her look stupid in front of the rest of the kids; they were almost as bad as the bullies. Almost. She took a deep breath and tried to remember the pages she’d studied the evening before.

  ‘Never mind, Jane, we haven’t got all day,’ Mr McCreedy snapped. ‘Make sure you study properly next time.’

  Jane opened her mouth to protest, but the teacher had already moved on to the next student. Melissa glanced smugly at Jane, then her voice rang out clearly around the room as she recited everything she knew about coffee and Brazil.

  ‘Stupid as well as plain,’ hissed Sophia from the row next to hers. She took a soggy piece of paper out of her mouth and flicked it at Jane. It hit her on the ear, and she flapped her hands in disgust to dislodge it.

  ‘Jane!’

  Everyone turned to stare as Mr McCreedy strode over and stood before her, hands on hips, a deep frown on his face.

  ‘You may not wish to participate in the lesson, but I ask you to refrain from disturbing the rest of the class, who do want to learn something today.’

  ‘Sorry, sir.’ Jane lowered her head, her cheeks flaming as more sniggers drifted around the classroom.

  ‘Any more of this and I’ll keep you back in detention after school.’ The teacher turned away with a sigh. ‘Now, Melissa, where were we?’

  Jane swallowed her anger as she found the ball of soggy paper with her fingers. She let it drop to the floor, and added Melissa and Sophia to her list of people she would get her revenge on.

  * * *

  When the bell rang, she joined the throng of students shoving and pushing their way through the corridor towards the exit. At least here she was anonymous; no one called her Plain Jane or stupid, she was just one student among hundreds of others, all rushing to get home and play on their computers. Not that she had a computer, of course, not her own one, at least. Mum and Dad kept promising but so far it had never materialised. She had to share an old laptop with Chloe, where most of the keys were broken and had to be double or even triple tapped before the letter appeared, and it took forever to open programs.

  She cried out as someone tugged her hair and pulled her into the girls’ toilets. Gasping with pain, she put her hand to her head to stop her hair being pulled out by its roots.

  ‘Oh, come on, Jane, don’t be such a cry-baby!’ came Melissa’s voice.

  Sugar-wouldn’t-melt Melissa, as Jane privately called her. Mark’s girlfriend. Together with her three best friends, or arse-lickers, as Jane preferred. She groaned inwardly. All she wanted to do was go home and shut herself away for another evening, in preparation for the next day’s torture to begin once more.

  ‘Leave me alone,’ she said, twisting her body so that Melissa let go of her hair. She stood up straight and looked at the four girls before her. ‘You’ll miss the bus if you don’t get a move on.’ She didn’t care if she missed it; she often walked home, just to avoid more bullying from the others.

  ‘Mark’s parents are picking us up and taking us to the shopping centre for tea, we’ve got a few minutes,’ Melissa replied. ‘So we thought we’d spend some quality time with you, give you a quick geography lesson so you’re prepared for tomorrow. Mr McCreedy’s bound to ask you again.’

  Jane gulped. ‘Er, no thanks. I’d rather study on my own.’

  ‘Oh, but we’re not asking if you want our help. You’re going to get it, whether you want it or not.’

  Ten minutes later, Jane staggered out of the toilets, her blouse torn and deep scratches across her face and neck. The other girls giggled as they walked along the corridor arm in arm towards the front entrance, where the bright afternoon sunshine streamed inside. Mr McCreedy poked his head around the staffroom door as they passed and asked if they’d seen one of the cleaners, tutting when they replied with a sickly sweet, ‘No, sir.’ Shaking his head, he turned, and flinched when he saw Jane. He cast a quick glance over her, then deliberately avoided her eyes as he retreated into the staffroom. Another teacher came out, seemingly as eager as she was to escape the school walls, and sped off down the corridor, his briefcase bumping against his leg. From behind he didn’t seem familiar, and she briefly wondered if he was one of the new supply teachers. As the sound of his footsteps faded away, her thoughts turned to her current predicament.

  Jane hadn’t looked at herself in the mirror, there was no need. They’d cheerfully described everything to her as they’d gouged at her skin with a metal nail file, telling her that now she could study a map of Brazil and its coffee plantations whenever she wanted, even without her textbook. Her face scrunched up as she tried not to cry, her fists clenching as bitter thoughts of what she’d like to do to them raced through her mind.

  She made her way out of the school, her skin stinging as the air hit her wounds. Everyone else had already left, and the group of girls was nowhere to be seen. Jane breathed a sigh of relief. She hoisted her rucksack higher on her shoulder, wincing as it brushed against a cut, and started on her way home.

  She loved walking down the avenue, beneath the tall, leafy trees that created an umbrella of shade on hot summer days like today. Even though there was a cool breeze, the sun was still strong enough to m
ake her sweat. This was the posh part of town, all detached houses and bungalows, and if she was lucky she could peek inside some of the enormous bay windows and see how the other half lived. Some of the houses amazed her – one she’d managed to see into had had a large flat-screen TV that dominated the far wall, with leather sofas and armchairs dotted around the room, and a coffee table with glossy magazines carelessly scattered over it.

  She thought about her own house and scowled. The cracked linoleum on the kitchen floor had been there since the house was built back in the 1970s, and most of the furniture dated from that era too. The carpets had been changed a few years ago, but only because they’d started to wear so thin they could see the floorboards underneath. Her parents had gone for the cheapest ones they could find, the same dreary dark brown the original carpets had been. Jane had begged for something more cheerful for her room, but they’d refused.

  The sofa was all lumpy and the material was torn in places, but her mum said it was ‘homely’. Jane snorted. She imagined herself sitting on one of those leather ones, the feather cushions fitting snugly around her bum as she sat there like a princess.

  ‘All right for some,’ she muttered, then glanced around to make sure no one from school was following her. That was all she needed, more ammunition for them to fire at her. Crazy Jane, talking to herself now – she could just imagine the taunts.

  ‘Excuse me, could you tell me how to get to Whitstable Road?’

  She turned and stared at the man in the white car, leaning across the passenger seat and looking at her.

  ‘Sorry?’ She’d been miles away, as usual.

  He smiled at her and her heart did a little flip as she thought how cute he was, with his sparkling grey eyes. She thought he looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place him.

  ‘Whitstable Road. I’ve been going around in circles and can’t find it.’

  ‘It’s not near here. It’s way over the other side of town, past the hospital.’

  ‘Damn.’ He grimaced. ‘I was supposed to be there fifteen minutes ago, I’ve got a job interview. Had a job interview. Hardly worth going now.’

  She shrugged. ‘That’s a shame. Well, I’ve got to get going.’

  ‘Hey, wait a minute.’ He got out of the car. ‘You’re covered in scratches. What’s happened?’

  Jane shook her head, she didn’t want to start crying in front of him. ‘It’s nothing,’ she mumbled, and turned to leave.

  He took hold of her arm and stood in front of her. ‘It doesn’t look like nothing. You need to disinfect those scratches as soon as possible.’

  A tear trickled down her cheek and she wiped it roughly away, furious with herself.

  ‘Come, I’ll take you home. It’s the least I can do.’ He held open the car door and patted her back. ‘I don’t bite, promise.’

  She hesitated. ‘I can’t. Mum’ll kill me if she finds out–’

  ‘I’m sure your mum wouldn’t mind just this once, given the state you’re in.’

  ‘I really shouldn’t.’ She shifted from one foot to the other, avoiding his gaze.

  ‘I was bullied at school as well, you know. They made my life hell. If you’d like to talk, I’m a good listener.’

  The compassion in his voice nearly started Jane crying again. ‘I guess, just this once it couldn’t hurt.’ She gave him a grateful smile. ‘Thanks,’ she said, her voice wobbling, and put her rucksack into the footwell before clambering into the passenger seat.

  The man got in the car beside her. ‘So, what’s your name?’ He held out his hand.

  ‘Jane,’ she replied, shaking it with a giggle.

  He started the engine and the white Punto headed off down the leafy avenue. Jane sighed, glad she didn’t have to walk home after all.

  3

  I watch as the girls come out of the school gates, laughing and pushing each other, sharing some private joke. Jane’s nowhere to be seen; I know she’s been the brunt of their cruelty today. My poor little girl, it’s always the same. But I’m here now, no one will ever hurt her again once she’s back with me.

  Mother once told me words could hurt much more than a punch – how true that is. I’ll never forget the first time I used my words against a girl who was tormenting my younger sister; how her face paled as I whispered my threats in her ear, how she turned tail and ran away, avoiding me forever afterwards. It made my day when my sister told me how lucky she was to have me as a big brother, looking out for her.

  I contemplate going after these girls, but no, Jane needs me. The preparations have been made, everything planned down to the last second. I left work early on purpose, today has to be the day. There she is. My nails dig into the palms of my hands as I take in her torn blouse, the bleeding scratches. Bitches! I’d love to make them pay, but it will have to wait for another time.

  Mother said I would never find another Jane or Charlotte, that it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. She was almost right. Finding jobs in the local schools was easy; once I was in, all it took was a look at their records. Several schools later, I was on the point of giving up when I found them. First Jane, and then Charlotte. So familiar it hurts to look at them. So close to being mine once more.

  I let Jane walk a while, I know how much she loves to look in the posh people’s houses. I imagine her daydreaming of living in a house like those one day, and I make her a silent promise that she will. I want all her dreams to come true, this time.

  She’s coming towards me now, her mind miles away. I wipe my hands on my jeans, suddenly clammy, my heart thumping. All these months of preparation have led to this moment, when I’ll finally get back one of my little sisters. She’s coming home.

  4

  Jane pointed to the road on the left. ‘Turn down there, my house is at the end.’ She’d enjoyed their trip, especially as he had seemed so concerned about her scratches. No one usually paid her any attention; she bet her mum wouldn’t even notice them.

  Ever since Chloe had come along, Jane had been cast aside, forgotten, ignored. Chloe even had a posh name, whereas she was common-as-muck Jane. Twelve long years of being second best, of having to fight for her mother’s attention, of being told off for things that innocent-looking Chloe had done. Jane dug her nails in her palms as she fought back the tears, then realised he’d gone past the turning.

  ‘No, it’s back there,’ she said, twisting in her seat. For a moment she thought he was going to ignore her as well, but then he nodded.

  ‘My place isn’t far, I thought I could take a look at those cuts for you. Your mum will have a fit if she sees you looking like that.’

  ‘I don’t know. She’ll get worried if I’m late.’ Worried wasn’t really the right word; more likely, her mum would yell at her for not being around to get Chloe’s tea ready.

  ‘Just five minutes won’t hurt, will it?’ he said.

  ‘No longer,’ she insisted. ‘I’m already late as it is.’

  ‘That’s a promise,’ he replied.

  * * *

  He had a small house at the end of a cul-de-sac not far from where she lived. She knew the area, a run-down estate that the rest of town kept well away from. She glanced nervously about but there didn’t seem to be anyone around. Some of the houses had broken windows and overgrown gardens.

  ‘Most of the neighbours have moved away,’ he said, turning off the engine. ‘Just a few of us left now. It’s not the best, but it’s home. For the time being. Shall we?’

  She got out of the car and followed him into the house, down a long hallway to the kitchen. The wallpaper was peeling in places, long strips hanging limply from above, like long fingers reaching down to her. She shivered at the damp chill, and wrinkled her nose at the musty smell that lingered in the air.

  He picked up a glass from the worktop and filled it with water from the tap, then handed it to her. ‘Here, sit down and drink this while I patch you up. It’ll only take a few minutes, then I’ll get you home,’ he promised.


  She sat at the table and took a couple of gulps of water, while she stared around the kitchen with interest. It looked even older than her house, with an old-fashioned cooker and hob next to the ceramic sink, and a wooden counter covered with scratches and scuff marks.

  ‘So, what do you do?’ she asked, curious. It couldn’t be anything well paid, living in a dump like this.

  ‘Oh, you know, just little jobs here and there. Filling in for others when they’re sick, mainly. It suits me, though, I never stay in one place for long.’

  She started to ask what kind of jobs, but he’d turned his back on her and was looking in a cupboard.

  ‘Yes, I knew it was here.’ He took out a first-aid box and rummaged inside for some gauze and a bottle of disinfectant. ‘This might sting a bit,’ he warned as he put the gauze over the top of the bottle and tipped it upside down a few times to soak the material, then dabbed at her wounds.

  She winced, but said nothing, not wanting to appear a cry-baby.

  ‘So, do you get on with your sister? I remember I couldn’t stand my sisters when they were little, annoying little blighters, they were.’

  Jane chuckled. ‘That’s one word for it. Chloe’s a bit… spoiled. Everyone thinks she’s a princess, and I have to run around after her.’

  ‘You’re the oldest, right?’

  ‘Yep. Mum and Dad take advantage, they’re always off out and leaving me with Chloe. I hate it. And let’s not get started on school.’ Jane sipped her water, starting to relax as they talked. Finally, someone who understood her!

  The thought struck her that she hadn’t mentioned having a sister to him – how did he know? She opened her mouth to ask, then panicked as she lost all feeling in her legs and arms. The glass slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor, the noise ringing in her ears as she slumped forward.