Missing Abby (3 page)

‘What time was this?’ asked PC Lavine. Beside her, PC Morton's pen was scratching away non-stop.

I watched it move across the page like I was hypnotized. ‘About one o'clock.’

‘Which bus?’

‘The number 56 – the one that goes past Garemont Estate. That's where Abby and I both used to get off when I lived there, but now I get off before then, at Larkwood.’

PC Morton looked up. ‘OK, Emma, I'd like you
to just tell us everything that happened. What did Abby say when you spoke to her? Did she seem strange at all?’

No stranger than usual
popped into my mind.

‘Um … well, she was talking about Dungeons and Dragons, this game she was playing with her friends … and she said it had been sort of boring, the way they had been playing, and that she was going to start a new sort of game herself, or something … oh, and she mentioned this game that the – that the two of us used to play, called the Esmerelda game …’ I trailed off, twisting the sleeve of my blazer.

‘What was that?’ asked PC Morton.

My skin prickled hotly. ‘Nothing! It was just … stupid. We pretended to be novice sorcerers, and we had to defeat this evil enchantress called Esmerelda. I mean, it was years ago; it was just a pretend game.’

The questioning went on for ages, over an hour. They were really nice about it – especially PC Lavine, who had sympathetic dark eyes that seemed to understand everything I said – but it just went on and on. They asked practically everything you could imagine, and then asked it all again in slightly different ways, urging me to remember everything I could.

It wasn't easy, since I had tried so hard
not
to listen to Abby at the time. Plus I was so nervous I could hardly remember my own name.

Finally, at the end, I took a breath. ‘When I got off the bus, she was sort of – angry at me, I guess.’

‘Angry how?’ asked PC Lavine.

‘Well, she – she made a sort of snide comment
about the “old me”. You don't think that she ran away because of
that
, do you? Because I wouldn't go with her that afternoon?’

PC Morton glanced up sharply from his notepad. ‘Do you think she ran away, then? Did she say or do anything to give you that impression?’

‘No, but – well, what else could it be?’ I stared at him in bewilderment, and saw a small, sad smile cross his face. He flipped his notebook shut and stood up. PC Lavine did too, reaching for her hat.

‘Emma, thank you; you've been most helpful. Let us know if you remember anything else … we'll be back in touch if we have any other questions.’

It's not ever y day that the police turn up at St Sebastian's. Jo and Debbie were
agog
when I slipped into Maths twenty minutes late, after missing English altogether. As I handed Mrs Bienvenuto my late pass, I saw that they had snagged a table near the back, and were saving a seat for me. Jo waved at me, motioning to the empty seat beside her.

‘I think your friends would like for you to sit with them,’ said Mrs Bienvenuto dryly, peering at them. Jo grinned back at her, unabashed. ‘Well, go on, then. We're all waiting.’

I hurried to the table in the back, feeling everyone's stares on me.

‘You were gone
hours
!
’
whispered Debbie when I sat down. Her small, vivid face was all eyes. ‘What happened? Was that police car here because of you?’

‘Um – yeah, I suppose.’ I fumbled through my textbook with cold fingers. All I wanted to do was put my head down on the desk and cry. Except that I was
not
someone who burst into tears during class any more.

‘
Ems …
what's going on?’ Jo's usually the calm one, but for once she looked as wound up as Debbie.

Taking a breath, I glanced at the front of the room. ‘… So, if our imaginary firm's profits rose by fifteen percent to seventy-two thousand pounds …’ Mrs Bienvenuto was entranced with the figures on the whiteboard, not looking at us.

I flipped to a fresh page in my notebook and wrote,
This girl from my old school has gone missing, and I was the last person to see her on Saturday. We were on the bus together, coming home from town.

‘Oh, my god,’ whispered Debbie. ‘What's happened to her, do you think?’

‘I don't know,’ I whispered back. ‘She didn't seem like she was running away or anything—’

I suddenly realized that the class had gone silent. Mrs Bienvenuto stood drumming her fingers on her desk. ‘If you're
quite
finished talking, Emma, may I continue with my lesson?’

‘Yes, miss.’

‘You're sure, now?’ There were a few snickers.

‘Yes, completely.’

‘Oh, good.’ She turned back to the whiteboard.

‘Later, OK?’ whispered Debbie, and I nodded. Then I spent the rest of the lesson staring down at my textbook, trying to figure out how I could tell them
about Abby without mentioning what had happened at Balden.

After school that afternoon, I curled up on the settee watching the soaps. Nice safe pretend worlds. Pippin, our ancient ginger cat, jumped creakily into my lap and curled up. I stroked him, grateful for his warmth

– even though he drools a bit, and leaves a blanketof orange hairs attached to everything he touches.

‘You're a good cat,’ I whispered, scratching him behind the ears. He kneaded my leg with his paws, humming deliriously to himself. At least someone was happy.

Around six o'clock, I heard Dad come home, and low murmurs drifted out from the kitchen. Jenny, filling him in on what had happened. My muscles tightened as I strained to listen.

Suddenly my attention jerked back to the TV set, and I sucked in my breath.

Abby was on the news.

I watched, sickly mesmerized, as they showed what looked like a recent home video of Abby and her two brothers messing around in the Ryzner's overgrown back garden.

‘… the Brookfield teenager, who has been missing since Saturday afternoon. Hampshire Police have launched an intensive investigation to find Abby …’

On the video, there was a barbecue going, and Abby pointed at it dramatically, laughing. She had on her black combats again, and a T-shirt with an elaborate Celtic design.

The home video vanished, and a newsreader gazed out solemnly from the screen. ‘Today an old school friend reported seeing Abby on a bus, just after one o'clock on Saturday. But the Hampshire teenager never reached home, although the bus stop was less than a five minute walk from her house.’

Suddenly Mr and Mrs Ryzner were on the screen, perched on the beige settee in their living room. Shock rocked through me at the sight of Abby's mum. Mrs Ryzner was always so elegant – and now she just looked old and tired, with a sagging face and her hair scraped back in a ponytail.

‘Abby, if you've run away, please come home. We won't be angry, love, we promise.’

Mr Ryzner's arm tightened around her shoulders. He had dark bruises under both eyes. ‘Please, Abby, if you're watching this – just come home, and whatever the problem is, we'll work it out.’

The smooth-voiced newscaster came on again. ‘Police have not ruled out the possibility of foul play in Abby's disappearance, and are urgently appealing for any witnesses who –’

Suddenly I couldn't take it any more, and I lunged for the remote, switching the TV off. Then I started as Dad sat down on the sofa beside me. I hadn't even known he was in the room.

‘Hang on, love—’ He switched the TV on again. But the news had gone on to something else by then, thank god. He turned the volume down, and put his arm around me.

‘Jenny told me what happened. Are you OK?’

‘Dad, do you think she's all right? I mean, they said – they said there might have been foul play.’ The words sounded grim, archaic.

‘I don't know, love. I wish I did.’

I stared at him, and then looked quickly away, my fingers knotting together. I couldn't bear to think of it. I just couldn't.

He let out a breath, rubbing his chin. ‘Jenny's going to ring her parents, see if there's anything we can do … I can't even imagine what they must be going through.’

Jenny hardly knows the Ryzners – trust Dad to get out of doing that sort of thing! Actually, I realized suddenly,
I
should be the one to ring them, not Dad or Jenny.

Except for one tiny problem: they probably hated me.

Dad shook his head, pulling his tie free of his shirt and dropping it on the cushion beside him. His temples were frosted with grey, like someone had swiped a paintbrush over his dark hair. ‘It sounds terrible, but I have to say I'm glad you aren't friends with Abby any more.’

I stiffened. ‘What do you mean?’

He settled back against the sofa, frowning at the TV. ‘Well, who can say whether it was a factor or not, but she does seem to have gone off the rails a bit. Only ever wearing black, and all that spooky make-up. God only knows what sort of people she was hanging around with. They could have been into drugs, or worse.’

Abby
, doing drugs? She was completely manic on the subject; drugs were for losers and wasters.

‘You're wrong. She wouldn't do that.’ My voice shook.

‘Well, maybe not.’ Dad didn't look convinced.

Nat had edged into the room at some point, watching us with wide, steady eyes. ‘Mummy said that you're very sad right now, and I'm not to disturb you,’ she announced.

‘Oh.’ My arms seemed to cross over my chest of their own accord. On TV, a woman was holding up a packet of loo roll like it was a gold trophy.

Nat looked down, dragging an exaggerated toe across the carpet. She looked like a miniature sailor in her blue and white school uniform. ‘And she said I shouldn't remind you about playing with me today. Like you said we'd do.’

I almost laughed. She was
so
obvious.

‘Not today, Nat,’ said Dad. ‘Maybe Emma will feel like playing with you tomorrow.’

Nat's lower lip considered sulking, and then she changed her mind and came closer, leaning against the sofa and peering up into my face. ‘Why are you sad?’

‘Because …’ I shook my head.

‘She's worried about a friend of hers,’ said Dad. ‘But don't pester her about it, OK?’

‘But I want to know why—’

Dad leapt off the sofa suddenly, scattering cushions. ‘I feel … a tickle attack coming on!’

‘No-o!’ squealed Nat, her face bursting in glee as
Dad scooped her up. He swung her upside down, his hands like busy spiders. She screamed with laughter, kicking her legs.

Finally Dad dropped her onto the big leather chair, where she lay convulsing with giggles. His arms hung down by his sides as he turned and looked at me. ‘Are you all right, love? If you want to talk …’

Have a word with Jenny,
I finished in my mind. ‘I'm fine,’ I said, staring at the TV.

I couldn't sleep that night, and finally around midnight, I sat up in bed and opened my window. Propping my chin on my hand, I breathed in the smells from the garden. And all at once I was back with Abby, on a summer night over two years ago – the two of us lying on a blanket in her back garden, staring up at the stars.

Do you think there's life on other planets?

Sure, why not? Little purple men with buggy eyes, buzzing around in spaceships, doing crop circles for a laugh …

Yeah, really! ‘What shall we do this time, Zeebor? How about a giant smiley face?’

‘No, we did that last week. Ooh, I know – we'll do lots of circles, like we're saying something profound about infinity, har har har! That'll get ‘em going!’

Anyway, come on, seriously … what do you think?

God, I don't know … yeah, I guess. I mean, look at all those stars … we couldn't just be alone, could we?

My hand grew numb with my chin resting on it. I folded my arms and dropped my head on them. Abby and I could always talk like that to each other – saying
absolutely anything that came to mind, without having to stop and worr y about whether it fitted in, or sounded stupid.

But I guess that's just something you have when you're younger, isn't it? It's not the real world. I mean, it's not something that you can keep once you start to get older, and things start to change. You can't stay that vulnerable and wide-eyed forever, not without getting your teeth kicked in.

I guess I should be grateful to Karen Stipp and the rest of them at Balden, for teaching me that. Year Seven in a new school; it was supposed to be so great. I rubbed my temple, remembering the time she and her cronies had cornered me in the girls' loo.

Hey, Freaky, we saw you and Goth-geek playing one of your little magic games today! Can we play?

We were not! We were just talking—

Oh, you're such a liar! You were playing at
magicwagic
, we saw you! C'mon, Freak – let's play the
magicwagic
game. It's easy – I do this, and poof, you vanish!

She had shoved me against the wall, and I'd slipped and fallen, banging my head against a sink. The other two – Amy and Claire – took off then, laughing hysterically as they shoved out the door. Karen stayed behind long enough to actually help me up. She smiled sweetly into my face, tossing her golden-brown hair.

You should be more careful, Freaky – you're always so clumsy! I wouldn't tell anyone about how clumsy you are, if I were you. You know what would happen, right?
Still smiling, she pinched my arm, twisting the skin with her long nails until I yelped.

When Dad asked about my bruises, I spun him a tale about falling during PE, playing netball. I wasn't about to tell him the truth – that his daughter was a
freak
who everyone hated. It's not exactly the sort of news flash you want to give your dad, is it?

I shut my window and lay down again, staring up at the ceiling.

I don't know why that time came to mind just then, out of all the dozens of times with Karen. It wasn't like it was even the worst one, not by a long shot.

The girls' changing rooms flashed into my mind, and I shivered.

‘Hampshire schoolgirl Abby Ryzner is still missing. The CID has been brought in to head up investigations, and to aid Hampshire police with the overwhelming number of phone calls and tips that have been pouring in, though as yet detectives say they have received little of interest to them …’