by Gina Blaxill
I nodded. His face was almost touching mine. Very quietly, he said, ‘Good.’
For a second I thought worse was coming. But after a tense moment they swaggered off. They didn’t even look back. They knew I was no threat to them. I slid down the wall, my bruised stomach throbbing.
After a while I felt together enough to feel around for my glasses. One lens was shattered and the other had a huge crack across the centre. I realized that one of the arms had bent too. It would be easier to buy a new pair than get these repaired. These frames were fashionable ones – they’d been expensive. I didn’t want to go back to wearing my grotty old pair. The fact that they’d broken something so essential, that meant something to me . . .
Fighting tears, I gathered my other belongings. Apart from a scratched screen my phone was still working. ‘She’s not got it,’ the guy had said. I could have told them that. What had they thought was there?
I had a new text – Ollie’s reply from earlier.
Come over. I want to see you. x
I texted yes and ran. It hurt, and I could barely see where I was going, but I didn’t want to stay in this place a moment longer.
*
Ollie and his mum lived on the edge of an estate twenty minutes from the station on the ground floor of a grey terrace. It looked like something out of a dystopian movie. The front yard got used as a dustbin by whoever passed by. Keeping it clean was a losing battle. Judging by the people I’d seen hanging around here, I could understand why the house had a cage over the front door and windows. And this was the nicer end of the estate.
Ollie’s mum had been given the flat by the council when she’d come to England. Ollie had been ten – the same age I’d been when I moved here. Exactly why she’d left Colombia so quickly was something Ollie was cagey about. Given how unemotional he usually was, I guessed it was bad.
Ollie only ever invited people round when his mum wasn’t in so I wasn’t surprised when he opened up. I gave him a smile that felt strained. Inside I was still jittery. I’d gone home and picked up my old glasses and tidied myself up. I felt stupidly self-conscious on top of everything else.
‘Hey.’
‘Jesus Christ!’ Ollie cried. ‘You look raw, babe. What happened? Has someone roughed you up?’
‘I look that bad?’ It wasn’t funny, but I started laughing, just as I had the last time I’d been this freaked out, at the bus station last Thursday. Ollie looked alarmed. He pulled me inside. Something about his hand on my arm brought back the guy in the alley. I shook him off.
‘Don’t!’
He backed away, holding up his hands. ‘Im, stop this. You’re creeping me out. Tell me what exactly happened? Please. I need to know, because all kinds of stuff’s going through my head right now.’
How did I begin explaining? Did I even want to? I took a few deep breaths. ‘It’s fine. I’m fine, Ollie. Gimme a moment.’
Ollie swore under his breath, half turning to the wall, running a hand through his hair. He’d gone very pale. He then did something he’d never done before. He gave me a hug, a proper one. Not an arm slung round a shoulder, or a hello/goodbye one, or cuddling when we were making out. This wasn’t me and Ollie at all. I could even feel his heart beating, very quickly. Half embarrassed, half uncomfortable, I just stood there. After he let go, there was an awkward silence. When it stretched past the point of OK, I said, ‘Wow. Who are you and what have you done with Ollie?’
‘Jeez! Can’t I get anything right? I’m trying to comfort you. Don’t fling it in my face. Anyway, that’s not important! You need to tell me what happened.’
What was wrong with me? He was being nice. Why wasn’t I letting him?
Ollie took my hand and led me through into the living room. The telly was on, showing a footie match. He turned it off and perched on the arm of the sofa, a big cushy patterned one his mum had picked up at the market.
He folded his arms, very head prefect all of a sudden. ‘I’m not going to mess about, Im. You’ve got to talk to me. If you want to lie and say you’re fine, you might as well just leave. I can help if you give me a chance.’
This direct no-nonsense approach was much more in my comfort zone. Yet I hesitated. I wasn’t sure why. Ollie was my boyfriend. I should be able to talk to him, right?
‘Give me a moment.’
‘What’s there to think about? C’mon, Im. I’m scared for you, OK!’
There was no one else I could turn to. I’d had enough of going it alone and I didn’t know what to do. Screw Ollie being jealous of Sam. He wanted to listen and I wanted to let him.
Ollie didn’t say much as I explained. His expression didn’t shift when I admitted I’d been over to Sam’s. I had the feeling he wasn’t surprised, and that made me sad. He looked shocked when I described how I’d been beaten up, and his face creased into a deep frown when he heard that they’d threatened to hurt Benno.
‘God.’ He said flatly. ‘This is . . . I don’t know. I don’t know what to say.’
‘If Sam doesn’t come back soon, they said they can think of a lot of ways to ruin my life. So I’d better do my best not to piss them off, hadn’t I?’ I choked back a sob. Suddenly it all seemed very real.
Ollie seemed to snap back to life. ‘Where did they hit you? They didn’t break anything, did they? Shit, I should get you some painkillers and stuff –’
‘I took some at home. Not that they’ve done much good.’ I placed a hand on my stomach, wincing. It was beginning to throb badly now. God knows what a lovely bruise I’d have tomorrow. Ollie insisted on taking a look at where I’d been hit, pressing his fingers to my stomach.
‘Good old sports science A level,’ I said humourlessly. ‘You’ve clearly been paying attention in the injury-treatment module. Let’s ring the teachers and tell them.’
Ollie ignored me. He was being very through. After a few minutes he said, ‘Far as I can tell there’s no real damage. You should see a doctor though, just in case.’
‘Yeah, yeah, later. So what do you think I should do?’
Ollie rubbed the side of his nose, muttering, ‘This is a bloody nightmare,’ under his breath.
‘I wish it was just a nightmare,’ I replied. ‘Unfortunately it’s real.’
He sighed and looked at me. He hadn’t mentioned my ugly old glasses. I wasn’t sure he’d even noticed. ‘D’you ever think about how things just seemed easier when we were in Year 11? Just a few months ago. Yet it’s like we’re in a different world. It was safe then. Sorted, no questions, all black and white. D’you ever miss knowing exactly who you were?’
All the time, I thought. Back then my life, and Ollie’s, had revolved around school. Being head prefects had suited us. It was weird that I’d never realized that Ollie felt exactly as I did.
‘I still need to decide what to do next,’ I said.
‘That’s simple, right? You gotta find Sam. He needs to bloody well man up and sort it out rather than leaving you to deal with his crap.’
‘I don’t think he intended me to get it in the neck,’ I said with an exhausted sigh. ‘Will you help me?’
Ollie hesitated, just for a second. ‘Of course.’
I started by doing something obvious. I rang Sam’s mobile.
‘Hello, you’re through to Sam’s phone,’ the voicemail said. ‘Leave a message. I’ll try to get back to you.’
‘This is Imogen,’ I said after the bleep. ‘Sam, you’ve landed me in it. I’ve been getting threatening texts and I’ve been shoved about by whoever these guys are and there’s only so much flack I can take, given that I know basically nothing about what’s going on. I get that you’re scared, and that this hiding-out thing is great for keeping you safe, but it drops me right in it. I need to talk to you. Urgently. Ring me back.’
I ended the call. ‘How was that?’
‘To the point and very you,’ Ollie said, putting away his own phone. ‘He’d better ring after that.’
‘Yeah.’ There was a silence. Ol
lie seemed to be out of words and so was I. It was a bit of a relief when he said, ‘Im, this is crap timing, but I gotta go. It’s kind of important.’
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘I’ll be OK.’
Ollie laced up his trainers, grabbed a coat and we went to the door together. While I’d never thought twice about walking through this estate before, suddenly I wasn’t so confident. I was half hoping he would walk me to the main street, but over the last five minutes he’d become anxious, constantly checking his phone.
‘Talk tomorrow,’ he said, brushing my cheek with his lips. ‘This’ll get sorted, Im, promise. Sam’s the one who has it coming.’
I didn’t want Sam to get hurt. I just wanted out of this mess. However I thought it better to say nothing about that. Not to Ollie anyway.
SAM
SUNDAY 17 NOVEMBER
I was sitting in the park-cum-green-cum-whatever it was again when I picked up Imogen’s voicemail. It felt weirdly intimate to hear her voice coming out of my phone, even if she did sound pissed off. Given what had happened, I guessed she had every right to be.
How had I got everything so wrong? I’d thought things would be easier with me gone. But then, I’d only really been thinking about me, hadn’t I? Not other people. I’d never imagined they’d start on Imogen. Why on earth had she even been targeted?
There was one thing I was sure of. There was no way I could leave Imogen on her own to deal with trouble that was meant for me. I couldn’t ignore the fact that what she was going through was my fault.
I dialled her number.
She picked up instantly.
‘About time.’
I could hear chatter in the background, the high-pitched scream of a child, a whirring. ‘Where are you?’
‘You’re the one who should be answering that question, Sam.’ Her voice sounded cold. ‘If you really need to know, I’m in a park and I’m alone. And if you give me a good enough reason, I won’t instantly run to your stepmum and tell her where you are.’
I sort of hated that she’d read me so well and sort of liked her for it too. ‘I never meant for you to get into trouble. honest. Are you all right, Imogen? They haven’t really hurt you, have they?’
‘Depends on your definition of hurt. I’ve been chased, threatened, pushed against a wall and punched in the stomach. Aside from that I’m feeling great.’
She spoke so breezily that it was hard for me to take it in. ‘I don’t know what to say,’ I said, stunned. How could so much change in just a day? ‘I . . . Imogen, I’m so sorry. I had no idea you’d get targeted! If I’d have known, I’d never have—’
‘Save that for later,’ she said curtly. She lowered her voice. ‘What the hell is going on?’
‘I’ll tell you everything,’ I said, still reeling from the news. ‘But not over the phone. I’m not convinced it’s safe. Could you . . . I mean, if it’s not too much bother, could you meet me where I am?’
‘Which I assume isn’t Walthamstow. Scared of coming back?’
‘They tried to kill me! You’d be frightened too!’
‘Who says I’m not?’
There was a pause.
‘I’ve been staying with Harrison,’ I said. ‘We grew up next door to each other. I guess he’s the closest thing I have to an older brother. Anyway, he’s at uni in Essex. Colchester. If you come up, I’ll meet you. Then we can talk.’
‘Colchester’s miles away. I don’t have cash for train fares.’
That was one thing I didn’t understand about people in Walthamstow; they seemed to think even other areas of London were halfway across the country. Apparently some kids had never been out of Waltham Forest borough. It shocked me that people who were so sorted in some ways could be so unsorted in others.
‘I’ll pay you back for your ticket. Please, Imogen.’
Imogen sighed. For a moment I thought she was going to lash out.
‘Sure,’ she said. ‘A trip to Colchester. Perfect way to spend Sunday afternoon. How long does it take?’
‘About an hour once you’re on the train. Please, don’t tell anyone about this.’
‘Whatever, Sam. I’ll come now.’
‘Stay safe, OK?’
‘Can’t promise you that,’ Imogen said wryly, and ended the call. I groaned. Of all the stupid things to say! But she was coming, and part of me was glad that I’d finally be able to share this hell.
IMOGEN
SUNDAY 17 NOVEMBER
Immediately after speaking to Sam I rang Ollie. He didn’t pick up. I couldn’t wait so I went straight to the nearest tube station. In under forty-five minutes I was on an overground train heading out to Colchester. Ten minutes into the journey, Ollie called back.
‘I know where he is,’ I said, not bothering to say hi. ‘No way!’ Ollie’s voice was breaking up a little; was it my imagination or did it sound a little uneven? ‘So where’s he hiding out?’
I told him, adding, ‘We’re meeting at Colchester station.’
‘When – now? Isn’t that out of London somewhere?’
‘Yeah, Essex, and yeah, now. I was going to ask you to come with me when I rang. I’ll be there in about forty.’
Ollie’s voice cut out entirely. I frowned, removing my phone from my ear to see if the call had died. Then I heard Ollie muttering and quickly put it back. ‘You OK, Ollie? You sound frazzled.’
‘I’m fine. Don’t stress. Good luck, Im, OK?’
‘Thanks. Nice to know you care,’ I said. It was only half a joke. Ollie had been part of my life for months, but I’d never really trusted him with something this important before. At least bad stuff, crap though it was to deal with, taught you who your friends really were.
SAM
SUNDAY 17 NOVEMBER
I looked up a taxi number on my phone – the university campus was too far from Colchester to walk, and the buses were infrequent on Sundays. As I waited for it to arrive I felt nervous. I’d told Imogen that I’d tell her everything, and I really wanted to do just that. I was so sick of keeping it to myself. But that would involve letting out the part of this I was sure would tear her up. She’d been hurt enough already. Things would have been so much easier if I’d been able to get it out that night at the chicken shop and now I wouldn’t have this horrible dilemma.
My taxi arrived and took me to the station. I got myself a coffee from the shop on the platform and sat in the waiting room, drinking it slowly.
I was on my second by the time the London train drew in. I saw Imogen get out and felt a deep sense of dread. She looked less well turned out than she did at sixth form, all layered up and without any make-up. I immediately noticed that she was wearing her old glasses, the ones she’d had when I’d first joined the school. She wasn’t smiling. Not that I’d expected her to be pleased to see me.
She opened the glass door. It creaked and swung shut behind her. She sat next to me on the wooden bench, folding her arms.
‘Right,’ she said. ‘Where do you want to start?’
IMOGEN
SUNDAY 17 NOVEMBER
Sam rubbed the side of his nose, looking at me wearily. He was bundled up in a heavy coat and scarf. He still had stitches in his chin. Raw-looking scabs had formed around the cut. It wasn’t a pretty sight.
‘I could try the start,’ he said.
‘Hello, Captain Obvious!’ I met his eyes. ‘No fibs or dodging questions, OK?’
Sam sighed. ‘I guess you’ve figured by now that I was there the night that guy in the shop got attacked. Hamdi, not that I knew his name then. I didn’t intend on being there. We were only in the area because Mia wanted to eat out.’
‘She’s your cousin, right?’
He nodded. ‘Little cousin, though she looks older. Before we go on, was it you IMing her yesterday?’
I nodded. Outside there was a rumble as another train drew in. It felt peculiar to be having this conversation somewhere so public. ‘Did I freak her out?’
‘A little. Were you on my computer?�
�
I explained about house-sitting and waited for Sam to carry on.
‘I don’t really like Walthamstow,’ he said. ‘I hate all those takeaway chicken joints. You know they use cheap meat and pump it full of water and fat to make it look good? It’s gross. The American Diner’s all right though, so that’s where we went.’
The diner opposite the Guls’ shop. It would have been packed on a Saturday night. ‘Mia said you told her to get a table while you went into the shop.’
‘I only wanted to break a note and get some change for the jukebox. I went in and looked for something cheap to buy. I was at the opposite end to the till when I heard shouting and three guys ran in. They had hoodies and scarves on – I couldn’t see much of them.’ He swallowed, and I felt sorry for him despite myself. ‘They had knives and I was so absolutely freaked out you would not believe. They started threatening Hamdi, telling him to hand over the cash.’
‘What did you do?’
Sam didn’t answer. I leaned forward.
‘Sam. What did you do?’
‘What do you think?’ Sam yelled, so loudly that I drew back. ‘I hid in the photo booth at the back of the shop. And I did nothing!’
Now I understood why he’d been so reluctant to open up. ‘You mean you didn’t try to get help?’ I said. ‘That shop has a back door. You could have slipped out and raised the alarm. Or phoned the police. Or helped him.’
Sam covered his face with his hands. ‘Believe me, it feels like I killed him, and no, that isn’t melodramatic, because I could have made a difference. There must have been a minute, maybe two, before they really laid into him, and I stayed hiding, only thinking about protecting myself! I hate that I did it, but I did and there’s no getting away from it. And yes, I saw everything.’
The words came out muffled, but the regret in his voice was clear. I didn’t know how to react. Yeah, part of me was disgusted. Hamdi might still be alive if Sam had done something.
