by C. J. Skuse
‘Was your fontanel compromised at birth?’ she said, lifting the cool bag from under the seat and standing up. The bus had arrived at the train station. ‘I don’t have access to an endless smorgasbord of boy-band body parts I’m afraid. My sources are limited. I take what I can get.’
I went to stand up but Zoe pushed me back down into my seat, so hard it hurt.
‘Ow!’ I said, even though it was only the shock of it that had hurt.
‘You’re not coming. Go home, Camille. Go back to your family and your Mr Adequate.’
And she left me there on the bench seat. I watched her march down the bus steps and through the train station doors, barging through people like they weren’t even there. She didn’t once look back.
I waited for tears to form in my eyes. Why was she so big fat horrible? Why had she brought my family into it, and Louis, my ‘Mr Adequate’. What did that mean? What had I done to deserve her being so cross with me? I needed a hug. Poppy gave brilliant hugs. I missed hugs. I missed her. I picked up Pee Wee and gave him a cuddle instead. ‘Ain’t you gettin’ off?’ Alf the driver called back to me. ‘I don’t stop at Tanner’s Knife or Pleinpalais on a Friday, you know.’
‘No, I know,’ I said, clearing my throat. ‘I need to go to . . . Holy Trinity. The vicarage. I’ll get off there.’
Cue the Tinkly Suspensey Music
Mrs Lamp opened the door in her apron and limegreen Crocs. ‘Hello, Camille love. Long time no see.’ She zoned in on my conk. ‘Ooh, you’ve had a nasty knock there.’
‘Hi, Mrs Lamp. Yeah. A door. Is Poppy in?’
Pee Wee jumped up and started biting her tights. She frowned as she tried to push him away. She was normally quite glamorous and I’d never seen her without make-up on, but today her face looked like it had been wrung out like a soggy dishcloth and her eyes were puffy as though hadn’t slept all night. ‘No. Has she not phoned you?’
‘No. I’ve texted her twice. She hasn’t texted back. I was worried. Has something happened?’
Mrs Lamp rubbed the silky bit on her apron. ‘I was sure she would have told you at least.’
‘Told me what?’
‘Come in, love.’
It was weird how everything looked old in the house without Poppy there to young it up. Everything seemed so much more grey and vicaragey. The pictures all up the stairs were of her and her brothers as children. And of her friends: our day out at Splashy Manor four years ago – me, Poppy and Lynx on the rollercoaster, screaming; me, Poppy and Lynx at the aquarium aged about nine. I’d forgotten how fat Lynx had been as a little girl. I’d forgotten how freckly Poppy had been.
I followed Mrs Lamp through to the kitchen, where she let Pee Wee into the back garden and put the kettle on. She got down a cup and saucer for her and my usual mug, which she filled with three scoops of light hot chocolate powder without even checking I wanted it. She just knew. She placed it down on a doily coaster on the tabletop and took a piece of notepaper from the top of the fridge. ‘This was on her bed yesterday morning.’
My worry was so big by this time that I physically couldn’t read the note fast enough. I had to read it twice before I understood what it said.
Mum and Dad, I’ve gone to the West Fest with Splodge. I’m sorry, I just couldn’t not go. Please forgive me. We’re getting the bus to Abergavenny. I’ll see you in a couple of days. Please don’t worry. I love you, Poppy xxxxx
‘Poppy wrote this?’ I asked. Mrs Lamp nodded. ‘I’d heard Poppy talk about West Fest back in the summer. Lynx couldn’t bear the thought of not showering for three days and I didn’t like any of the bands, but she had really wanted to go. Me and Lynx had doubted her parents would have let her anyway – they hadn’t even let her have her ears pierced until she was sixteen.
‘I can’t believe she didn’t tell you about it,’ said Mrs Lamp, pinning her red hair back up into its clip as it was coming loose.
‘No. Well, I haven’t really seen her that much lately.’
She sniffed. ‘Ever since this Splodge character came on the scene, neither have we. She even missed church last week, just so she could go and see him. It’s just not like her, is it, Camille? She’s never done anything like this before. We were always so sure with her. Her GCSE results were excellent . . .’
‘I don’t think this was planned, Mrs Lamp,’ I said, touching her hand to comfort her. ‘I just think . . . well, I think she’s in love.’
‘That’s not an excuse, is it? Not when she’s just started her A levels. There’s no way she’s going to that Halloween party with him, that’s for sure. Oh no, not after this. What do you know about him, Camille?’
I shrugged. ‘Not much, really. He’s on the rugby team at college and in the orchestra with Poppy. He’s quiet. Chubby. Bit of a lad . . .’ I saw Mrs Lamp’s face fall. ‘But he’s not a bad person. I think he really loves her too. And I’m sure he’ll look after her.’
‘I forbade her from going to that festival this early in a new term. I looked it up on her computer, what goes on there. You can imagine. Drugs. Parties till all hours. Naked weddings . . .’ Her voice dropped to a whisper and her cheeks flashed red. ‘Not to mention the fact that they’ll both be sharing a tent. They’ll be having . . .’
‘Sex?’ I blurted out, before realising that Mrs Lamp really didn’t need me telling her what they would be doing. I tried to make up for it. ‘Poppy wouldn’t do that, Mrs Lamp. She knows that you wouldn’t approve. And I don’t even think she approves of that before marriage anyway. I think she and Splodge just really like these DJs, Skitzy and Creampuff. And there’s this band, Little Maniacs – I think they were going to be there too. They’re like an electronic orchestra.’
Mrs Lamp shook her head. ‘Just doesn’t seem right to me.’
I bit my cheek. I had to say it. ‘It is weird that she went when she knew you wouldn’t let her, though. Poppy doesn’t even swear because you don’t like her to. It’s very . . .’
‘. . . out of character,’ she finished.
I shrugged. ‘Yeah. Totes.’ I looked around at the blue and green kitchen tiles me and Poppy used to count when we were having tea in the kitchen, swinging our legs beneath the breakfast bar. ‘But I really think they might, like, love each other, if that helps?’
Mrs Lamp’s eyebrows rose up to her forehead and she sighed the longest sigh, like she was letting all the air out of her body. ‘How would that make me feel better? I suppose being in love makes you do crazy things like ignore your parents’ rules and take impromptu trips out of the country whenever one feels like it, does it?’
‘Hmm,’ I said. I turned the sentence over and over in my head as we sat there. Being in love makes you do crazy things. Like what me and Zoe were doing, building the body. It was all because of love.
‘What is it, Camille?’
‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘I was just wondering if she told Lynx or anyone else about the festival.’
‘No, Lynsey was round here yesterday asking for her. Brought that rather forward young man with her. Jeff de What’s-His-Name who owns the arcades and half the pier – his son. Dylan, is it?’
‘Damian,’ I said.
‘Yes, Day-me-an,’ she said slowly. ‘Seemed rather . . .’
‘Yeah,’ I said, unable to think of an appropriate word to sum Damian up. ‘I know Damian.’
I looked at the note again. I didn’t want to worry Mrs Lamp until I was sure, but there were a few things I just didn’t get. For a start, it was written on a tea-stained kitchen notepad with corners that had gone curly. The slightest crease on a page and Poppy had to use a whole new one. And it didn’t really look like Poppy’s hand writing either – it was scrawly and ink blotted. It could have been done in a rush, I guessed, but Poppy was always so neat. She was like one of those medieval monks about her handwriting. It was her pride and joy. That scruffy scribbly note was not Poppy’s style, of that I was the certaintest I had ever been about anything ever ever. A thought flashed into my mind – Z
oe’s notepad. Messy. Ink blotted. Like the note. Could it have been Zoe’s handwriting? Could Zoe have written that note?
*
On the way back into town, the electro bus was packed so I had to stand up and hold one of the ceiling straps. Pee Wee sat between my feet. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw a text from Louis Burnett. My chest pulsed. Had he heard from Splodge?
But no. It just said: R u OK?
I texted back: I’m fine. Went rnd 2 c P’s mum. They went 2 a festivl in Wales. Her mum not happy. C. And I put a happy smiley. Then I turned my phone off.
I didn’t see the point in telling Louis my worries before I’d got everything sorted out in my head. It all just didn’t add up, and I was no good at adding up anyway so I knew it was going to take me a while to work it out. Had Zoe written that note? And where had she got those hands for the project? Where had she got those organs from? You just don’t have those kinds of things lying around, do you? Or maybe you do if you’re someone like Zoe Lutwyche? Had she gone up to Madeira Cove and pushed William Pratt off the cliff just so she could steal his feet? Did I know who Zoe actually was? Was my best friend Zoe Lutwyche a murderer?
No, no, no, it was the terriblest thought. It couldn’t be possible. Splodge and Poppy must have got the coach to Wales for the festival on Thursday night. But I couldn’t shake my worries about the note. What if they hadn’t made it to the coach station? What if Zoe had seen them first and bundled them into the back of her car, then broken in through Poppy’s bedroom window and left the note? Could Zoe really have overpowered Splodge though? Big fat almost-six-foot-tall Splodge? Splodge who played piano in the orchestra. Splodge who had very nimble long white fingers. And hadn’t he had a mole on one of them? I wished I could remember his hands more clearly. Damian had been knocked over last night too. Had that been Zoe as well? Or had it really just been an accident, some drunk driver?
All I knew was that I didn’t know. But I did remember what Zoe had said when I’d asked her where she’d got the hands and organs from:
I had some spares lying around from when my father used to experiment.
And I remembered something else she had said earlier on the bus:
My sources are limited. I take what I can get.
Did that mean killing people if she couldn’t find what she wanted in Daddy’s spares box or in the hospital mort-yooary? Was she really going to some medical school in London to get the head? Or had that been a lie? If I’d been in a film or one of those detective dramas, this would have been the bit where I started breaking into offices and stealing secret papers or hiding around corners with a camera, hoping to get proof, and it would have had this tinkly suspensey music in the background and I’d have been acting all shrewd and detectivey as I pieced the bits together. But I wasn’t shrewd or detectivey and I had no idea how to begin piecing what little proof I had together.
One thing was for certain – I didn’t really have a clue what Zoe Lutwyche was capable of.
Love Makes You Do Crazy Things
Another night, another truly cruddy night’s sleep and it wasn’t just because I kept knocking my nose. I had an even more cruddy dream. I dreamed that me and Louis were being chased by some hideous, tall, drooling blue-eyed monster and the monster got Louis and dragged him to the ground and he was screaming and being eaten alive. The only good bit in the dream was that hanging from the trees were millions and millions of cherry hair scrunchies, just like the one I’d lost. And when I woke up I missed it even more.
Me and Pee Wee walked to college for double Biology, eating our greasy bacon-and-sausage sandwich, and I saw Louis standing outside the front entrance. I was a little relieved after what had happened to him in my dream. He was wearing a black basketball vest and shorts and he smiled when he saw me. My heart did a little pole vault thing. Definitely needed to go easy on the fried food.
‘Has Splodge called you yet?’ I said, unable to stop smiling myself for some weird reason.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Walk with me? I’m late for practice.’
‘I didn’t know you did basketball so early,’ I said as we walked side by side towards the sports block.
‘It’s an extra practice cos we’ve got a big inter-college championship coming up. I’m usually a sub but they’ve had a few guys off with injuries so . . .’
‘What kind of injuries?!’ I said, grabbing his arm. ‘Did they say what happened?’
He frowned. ‘Just hamstring pulls and stuff I think. But look, I’m getting really worried about Splodge.’
‘Why?’
‘I went round to his house and his mum told me about him just doing a bunk in the middle of the night with Poppy. She showed me this note he’d written. Something wasn’t right though. It was a really neat note. It didn’t look like Splodge’s writing at all.’
‘I had the exact same thing when I went round to Poppy’s house! Her mum showed me this really messy note from her.’
‘I guess they could have written each other’s notes?’ said Louis.
I had a think. ‘Yeah, that would make sense I guess. What did his note say?’
‘It said “I’m in love. Back soon.” That was it.’
‘That was it?’
‘That was it,’ he said, pulling his sports bag up his shoulder from where it had fallen down. ‘Maybe Poppy was just in a hurry and neat handwriting was the last thing on her mind?’
‘Yeah. I thought that too. Maybe Splodge just felt like writing it neatly cos . . .’
‘. . . for once he cared what he was writing about?
Louis nodded. ‘I guess that makes sense. I didn’t know he wanted to go to the stupid festival so badly. Just wish he’d call. It still doesn’t feel right.’
‘What do you mean?’ I said, as Pee Wee cocked a leg against the sign for the maths room. ‘Good boy.’
‘Well, Splodge has never even had a girlfriend before. Now suddenly he ups and leaves without a word to his two best mates? Me and Dame have known him since forever. I mean, okay, he hasn’t always been the most reliable friend, but I’ve been there for him. I know him, Camille. He wouldn’t have just gone off like this.’
I squinted and shrugged. Squgged, I guess. ‘But have you ever known him in love before? Love makes you do crazy things.’
A couple of boys went past and their laughter floated over to us. They were looking at me and talking about freshers’, I knew it. I heard the word ‘sandwich’. They were laughing about my purple-tinged nose too. I didn’t even care. I didn’t even get the pang of hurt I always got when people laughed at me. I was tooooo tired.
Louis shook his head. ‘I’m really worried about him, Camille. I can’t sleep, I can’t concentrate . . .’
‘Me neither!’ I said.
‘What if they’ve had a car crash and they’re in some ditch?’
I rubbed my eye. ‘No, Mrs Lamp said they took a bus to Abracadabra or something.’
‘A bus crash then.’
‘We would have heard about it.’
He stopped walking as we reached the double doors at the back of the gym and we moved to one side to let a small group of girls through. ‘Well, the festival’s over now, shouldn’t they be on their way back?’
‘I don’t know. I just don’t know.’ Cue the tinkly suspenseful music. I couldn’t say anything that would make him feel better. He looked like he was going to cry.
‘Did you see the news last night?’ he whispered. ‘A young couple out hiking in the Welsh hills got mauled. They don’t know who or what did it. How do we know that wasn’t them?’
My mind went into free fall. Two bad nights’ sleep and though my body was exhausted, my brain was a hamster on an endlessly-moving wheel. A bad mad hamster thinking bad mad thoughts.
‘Oh Louis, don’t!’ I said, now proper crying myself. It came out of nowhere – I just started bawling.
‘Camille, I didn’t mean to upset you.’ He leaned into me and wrapped his arms around my back and I san
k into his shoulder. He was so warm and so comfortable and he smelled of that man shower gel that I liked sniffing in the supermarket. He rubbed my back. ‘I’m sorry. I’m just way overtired. It’s just me being paranoid.’ Rub rub rub. I went limp against him. I was soooooo comfy.
Seconds later, he was standing before me, holding me at arm’s length. ‘Camille? You went to sleep!’ He was laughing.
‘I did?’ I said, clearing my throat and blinking manically.
‘Yeah. Look, do you want me to walk you home? I can skip basketball practice and Geography. I haven’t got anything else until Media so I could be back for that.’
‘No, I’ll be okay,’ I said, trying to stretch my eyes open where they kept falling closed. ‘I have to go to Biology. I have to see if Zoe’s back.’
‘Well, let me walk you back home later then? I’ll meet you out here at lunch.’
‘No, I’ll be fine.’ I started walking away. A swaggering figure in the same black basketball kit as Louis was coming straight towards me. It was Damian.
‘You seen the mess them hamsters made of reception? They’ve totalled it.’
‘Yeah,’ said Louis. ‘It’s out of bounds for the whole of this week.’
They were in full conversation about the hamsters – how the music room was all holey; how the cellos would have to be replaced. I started walking away but I was still looking at them, waiting for Louis to look back at me. And then he did and smiled and put his hand up to say goodbye.
And I walked straight into the side of the building.
*
I should have taken Louis’ advice and gone home. Double Biology was horrend. The lab smelled of fish, I got told off for yawning and Zoe was there but she completely blanked me. When the lesson ended, she was first to leave.
