by Nicci Cloke
The thought sends acid lurching up my throat. I think of the laptop he bought me – on my desk, resting on my pillow beside me in bed. Like a snake, coiled, ready to strike.
‘So he knew,’ I say slowly. ‘He knew all along.’
‘Looks like it,’ Scobie says, opening the screenshot of Hal’s inbox again, the chain of messages from Lizzie. ‘The question is, what did he do about it?’
And then I remember. The day after the prom, Kevin coming in and sitting on the edge of my bed. I was at my desk, my face still battered and bruised, my arm in a sling. My suitcase was packed beside me, ready for my journey to London the next morning.
‘I’ve spoken to Selby,’ he said. ‘I’ve explained the situation, that the Honeycutt kid has been giving you trouble all year. I’ve told him what a good student you are, how excited you are to be joining sixth form, and he’s agreed that, if there’s no further police involvement, you’ll be able to keep your place. He’s a good guy. You’re lucky.’
And then he looked past me, at my screen. It was on Lizzie’s profile, just like it had been all day. Message after message, unanswered.
‘Pretty girl,’ he said, and I didn’t reply.
‘She the one you were talking about? The person you hurt?’
I looked behind me, at her photo, and he took my silence as confirmation. He stood up, put a hand on my shoulder.
‘It’ll all work out.’
‘She’s won’t reply to my messages,’ I said, and my voice was thick, like I might cry.
He squeezed my shoulder once. ‘Keep your head down this summer,’ he said. ‘Go to London, stay out of trouble. Things will turn out okay.’
And all the time, he was looking at her face.
LIZZIE
WHEN I ARRIVED in London, I was suddenly hit by a wave of nerves. Hal and I had talked about everything. Everything. It was like when I first met Aiden; I felt like I’d found someone who just got me, who just fitted.
So obviously I didn’t want to actually meet him. That would ruin everything.
No – that’s not true. I did want to meet him, more than anything. I wanted to feel the way I felt when we talked online all the time. I was excited to be able to see him, hear him, touch him. For him to be real. For all the times he’d sent me hugs to actually become real hugs. Real kisses instead of ones made of pixels.
But it was bound to go wrong at some point, like all relationships do. There was bound to be some awkward moment when the conversation dried up, or when he said the wrong thing, or I did, or when he broke my heart and pushed me down the freaking stairs, and then the perfect just-the-two-of-us space we’d built together would instantly dissolve, just like it always does. And we’d just be two people again, two people without something special, without a story.
But the butterflies in my tummy were way stronger than the nerves or the doubts. And so, after pacing back and forth in front of King’s Cross for ten minutes, I got on the bus. I smoothed down my hair, checked my breath and sat and watched the stops roll by until I got to Angel, where Hal had asked me to meet him.
I missed the pub the first time, too busy looking around and wondering if he was somewhere, watching me. So I had to double-back and by the time I made it to the door, my heart was beating so hard I was sure everyone could hear it.
Inside, it was cool and dark and busy, full of people eating food and drinking beer and craning their necks at the football on the widescreen TVs dotted about the place. I tried to look around without stopping to stare. I tried to remember exactly what the face I’d seen smiling back at me from Facebook each night actually looked like. I couldn’t see anyone sitting alone, just people in groups, people laughing, people talking, people looking at each other, watching each other.
But then, through a gap in the crowd, him. Watching me.
Aiden’s stepdad.
I was so surprised I looked away. Maybe he hadn’t seen me? He probably wouldn’t even know who I was, anyway.
But when I glanced back again, he was still watching me. And then he waved me over.
‘Lizzie,’ he said, standing up as I got near and reaching out to shake my hand, like we were having a business meeting. ‘Do you know who I am?’
‘Of course, Mr Cooper.’ I felt about twelve. ‘We met when Aiden and I did Streetcar, didn’t we?’
‘Oh, that’s right,’ he said, gesturing to the chair opposite his. ‘Let me get you a drink.’
‘Oh, I –’ I looked around. Still no sign of Hal. ‘Erm, okay. Sure.’
‘Orange juice?’
I glanced up at him, at his clean-shaven, earnest face. Did I dare? ‘Maybe with vodka?’
He smiled, just the hint of a wink. ‘No problem.’
While he was at the bar, I looked round again, taking my time, making sure I checked in every corner of the bar. No Hal. I got my phone out of my bag and sent him a text: where u?
I still didn’t even know if I wanted him to show. If I wanted him to be a real person who farted and had faults and couldn’t be relied on and would let me down. Or if I wanted him to show up and see me with someone old enough to be my dad, buying me booze like some kind of Cool Guy. What would I do if he actually turned up with Kevin still there?
‘Here we go.’ Kevin put my drink in front of me, just as my phone vibrated in my lap.
Sorry, the text read. Something came up
Tears stung the edges of my eyes so I took a big swig of my drink. A double. Perfect.
‘Look, I’m really glad I ran into you,’ Kevin said, sitting down. ‘I know it’s not really my place, but –’
I looked up at him, my heart beating faster again.
‘You and Aiden. What happened there?’
I looked away again, my face burning. ‘Oh, it’s – we… It was…’ I stopped. There was no real way to explain it.
‘No, sorry, it’s not my business.’ He smiled kindly at me. ‘But Aiden just hasn’t been the same since you guys stopped hanging out. I know he misses you.’
I took another sip of my drink, but suddenly it was hard to swallow. I missed him too. I really did.
‘Anyway.’ Kevin raised both of his hands, a generous surrender. ‘I just wanted to say. Seeing as we happened to meet like this.’
‘What are you doing here?’ I asked, before realising I really didn’t want him to ask me the same question. Or maybe I did. Maybe then it would get back to Aiden that I’d moved on; maybe it would make him jealous.
Yeah, I know. I was not exactly a nice person that day.
‘Oh, work stuff. One of our clients has an office not far from here,’ Kevin said, taking a gulp of his fizzy water. ‘Just had a quick drink with their marketing guy.’
‘On a Saturday?’
‘’Fraid so. No rest for the wicked.’
I tried to smile, but I was thinking of the text again. ‘Something came up’. What does that even mean?
‘Are you okay?’
‘Yeah.’ Another big, burning mouthful of my drink. ‘Yeah, just tired.’
‘What are you doing in London? Shopping trip?’
‘Yep.’ I nodded. It’d be too humiliating to admit the truth. That I’d been stood up by some guy I met online.
‘Listen, I’m leaving now. Why don’t I give you a lift home?’
And suddenly, I did feel tired. Tired of trying to be okay, trying to be happy. Trying to be the perfect girl. Trying to be perfect. I drained the rest of my drink.
‘Okay. If you’re sure you don’t mind.’
‘Not at all. Be nice to have some company.’ He stood up and held out my coat for me to wiggle on. ‘Come on, then.’
Outside it was getting dark. ‘My car’s parked round here,’ Kevin said, turning the collar on his fancy long coat up. He reached into his pockets and pulled on expensive-looking leather gloves. ‘Getting cold,’ he said.
We turned down a narrow side street and followed it round past a pretty terrace of grand three-storey houses, our footsteps echoing. The p
avements were getting that glittery sheen on them under the orange of the streetlights, the frailest of frosts forming like lace.
‘Oops, down here,’ Kevin said, bumping against me as he tried to turn left while I went to cross the road.
This road was even quieter, the buildings dark and windowless, the pavement lined with black bollards like bodyguards. Shattered glass strewn across the pavement; another kind of glitter. The toe of Kevin’s shoe caught a broken bottle and sent it skittering in front of us. It was the kind of surprising cold that cuts right through you. When it’s summer, you forget how it ever felt to be cold. And then winter arrives and surprises you. You’re cold all the way to the bone.
‘Aiden’s playing in a match next weekend.’ Kevin glanced at me as he fished his keys out of his pocket. He clicked them and a sleek black car up ahead of us flashed its lights. ‘Why don’t you come?’
‘Oh, I –’ The cold and the vodka were making my head fuzzy. ‘I don’t know.’
He was fumbling for his phone, close to me. Close enough to smell the sharp, woody scent of his aftershave, the dry-cleaned wool of his coat.
And then he stopped walking. He put a hand on my shoulder.
‘Lizzie,’ he said. ‘It’s not too late. This is fixable.’
But I was noticing the warm way his eyes met mine; how soft his lips looked. I was thinking about how much he reminded me of Aiden, even though he wasn’t really his dad. I was thinking about how Aiden had hurt me.
I was always thinking about how Aiden had hurt me. I’m not proud of that.
‘It’s really over,’ I said. But I’m not sure if I was talking to Kevin or to myself.
The hand on my shoulder squeezed a little tighter, and then his fingers smoothed out the fabric of my coat. ‘But you could be friends, couldn’t you?’
I smiled. ‘Is friends enough?’
He smiled back. ‘Not always.’
And then I stretched up on tiptoes and I kissed him.
I don’t know why I did it. I don’t know why I did any of the things I did, except that there was an ache in me that I just couldn’t get rid of, no matter what I tried. I missed Aiden; I wanted to hurt Aiden. Hurt him the way he’d hurt me. And so I did these things. I kissed other boys. I kissed his stepdad.
And he kissed me back.
But then he jerked back like he’d been electrocuted, his face twisted in disgust. ‘No!’ he yelled, and he pushed me away. Hard. I slipped.
There was a moment as I fell when our eyes met and I saw the feelings flash across his. Panic first – and then… Then something cold. Something hardened.
My head hit the bollard with a crack. And then I hit the pavement; a heavy thud.
I was lying looking up at the clear, cold night sky, warmth leaking out from under me. All I could see were the stars; brighter, brighter.
Then gone.
AIDEN
WE BOTH SIT staring at Lizzie’s face on the screen. Just like he did that day. Is that when he decided to start spying on me?
‘Why would he do all this?’ I ask. ‘Who does something like this?’ And where is he now? I try and swallow down my anger, try and focus on Lizzie. ‘Why didn’t he confront me if he knew?’
‘Good question,’ Scobie says. He’s busy reading through the messages from Hal – me – that can be seen in the screenshot. I don’t need to. I know them off by heart.
‘She gave Hal – you – her number enough,’ he says thoughtfully, looking at the digits on the screen. Lets chat babe. I want to hear your voice. ‘So Kevin had access to it. Maybe he called her. Maybe he told her you were Hal all along.’
A fresh lurch of horror goes through me at the thought. I don’t want her to know that. I never want her to know that.
‘And then what?’ I force myself to say. ‘She’s so angry she hops on a train to London? It doesn’t make sense.’
‘Maybe she was meeting someone else,’ Scobie says doubtfully.
It’s the thing I’ve told myself all along – it must be true because I was Hal and she wasn’t meeting me – but I can’t convince myself. Because there’s no proof; I’ve found no evidence that Lizzie ever spoke to any strangers but me. Except –
‘Her AskMe page,’ I say. ‘There’s something there, some kind of clue. She wanted me to know something.’
‘Oh, for god’s sake, Aiden!’ Scobie says, red creeping up his face. ‘You’re delusional! They’re just quotes, she wasn’t leaving you messages. She hated you! The only clue we have is right here. It’s the fact that the man whose house you live in was spying on her. Spying on you.’
She hated you. It’s like a punch in the face, and I reel from it, speechless. I can’t believe it; I won’t. The messages are for me. They mean something.
‘The CCTV,’ Scobie says, turning back to the screen. ‘At the pub. That seemed weird to me at the time. It sounds like it was hacked. Like someone wanted to delete any evidence of Lizzie being there. Of who she was there with. Would Kevin know how to do something like that?’
I don’t answer. I don’t know what Kevin is capable of any more. But I think it’s pretty clear that Kevin knows what he’s doing when it comes to technology.
‘Maybe he thinks you killed her,’ Scobie says suddenly. ‘Maybe he’s trying to hide any evidence he knew you were involved.’
I’m numb with fear but the words sting anyway. I feel dangerously close to tears. ‘I didn’t kill her, Scobie. God, you really think I’m capable of that?’
But an idea seems to have seized Scobie, and he’s busy searching through directories of code again, his fingers skimming over the keyboard so fast they make me dizzy.
‘Maybe that’s what he was trying to delete,’ he says. ‘Come on, come on… Be here…’
I push my chair back and dial Kevin again. His phone rings and rings until it diverts to voicemail. He always answers his phone. I dial again, stalking the hallway, a buzzing in my ears.
Mum. He was watching her, too. Watching both of us this whole time; so cold, so clinical. Software recording our every move and him locked in his office each night, trawling through our days, checking everything we were saying and doing.
I stop my pacing in front of a framed photo of the two of them on their wedding day. Mum in her smart white dress; not a frilly one – that’s not her style, not any more – but one that looks more business-like, more like something you’d wear to the office. She looks beautiful, but now, as I look at the way Kevin has his hand on her waist, the way he smiles at the camera, I suddenly think of the way she used to dress – the way she used to wear her kimono from Tokyo over a pair of jeans, the Seventies flares she wore to work with a smart shirt. I think of the Christmases and birthdays when Kevin bought her dresses just like this one, and the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stand up.
I think about the food he makes us eat. The way he made her take his name.
Control. It’s about control.
‘Aiden.’ Scobie’s voice is urgent. One step back inside the door, I know why. He’s made the file full-screen and although it’s blurred I know immediately what it is.
‘Press play,’ I say, too frightened to move closer.
Scobie obeys without question, and we watch the fuzzy figures on the screen move jerkily back and forth like a tide. It’s busy; happy hour at The Winchester. People move glasses towards their faces, people turn to one another, wave at friends across the bar.
And then there she is. Just a small blond shape at the bottom of the screen, she skips with the footage until she’s right in the middle of the scene. The centre of it.
She stops.
The crowd parts.
Then there he is.
Scobie’s hand goes to the mouse, ready to skip it forward.
‘Don’t,’ I say.
The people in the bar move back and forward in front of the table, blocking our view like clouds crossing the sun. I watch the numbers at the bottom of the screen tick on and on, the time passing. I watch him
go to the bar, watch him carry their drinks back to the table. I watch her lean closer.
What is he saying to her?
And then they get up. He holds her coat out for her. He touches her. There’s a thudding in my head, my fists tighten into knots. As they disappear out of shot, I realise the sound I can hear is coming from me; a deep, guttural noise that sounds like a growl. Images flash through my mind – Kevin shaking my hand the first time Mum brought him home to meet me; his hand on my shoulder that day after prom; his outstretched arms, holding out Lizzie’s coat to her, shrugging the fabric up over her shoulders.
The growl becomes a roar and the knots of my fists find their place in the centre of the framed awards that litter the study walls, glass tinkling down around me. I aim a foot at a cupboard door and it buckles easily. And it feels good, it feels better, so I pull open drawers, throw things, tear paper, punch holes in walls. I rip the monitor off the desk and I hurl it across the room, turning before it even lands, Scobie scrabbling to get away from me.
Where did they go? I’d be saying if I could make my mouth say words. What happened to her?
But I can’t. And so I just destroy things.
The drawers in the desk are locked, but that doesn’t stop me. I just punch them and pull them and put my foot through them until they’re hanging out, broken teeth in a broken mouth, their contents rolling out onto the glass-strewn carpet.
And then something catches the light. A needle. A small glass bottle rolls against my foot.
I stop.
I lean down and pick up the bottle. SODIUM THIOPENTAL, the bottle reads. SEDATIVE.
Sedative.
Scobie has crept closer again, and he crouches to pick up the needle. Sifting through the rest of the drawer’s debris, he finds a smashed syringe and my stomach lurches.
I turn on my heel and run down the stairs, phone pressed to my ear again. Mum. Where has he gone with my mum?
