Saving Silence (7 page)

I’d thought so much about what to do that now I was doing it I really didn’t know if it was right any more. But then, when things got to this stage, did right and wrong even matter
any more?

It’s your fault, Mum, I thought. ‘Be a real man – protect the people you care about, no matter what.’ It’s all very well you telling me this; it sounds great on
paper. You never mentioned how difficult it is in practice.

I hadn’t wanted to come down to London when Mum died. I’d have been happy staying in Yorkshire, but my grandparents would’ve struggled and my aunt and uncle didn’t have
the money to provide for me. I hated the idea of being a burden on people, even family. When Dad stepped in and actually seemed to want me, it seemed like the easiest solution.

On the surface, Dad is all teeth and tan and flash suits and business calls and he drives a Mercedes. He’s easy to stereotype. People were often surprised when I told them that he’d
been OK with me, visiting every so often and sending regular cheques. He and Mum even got on reasonably well. Their relationship had been pretty short and they’d never been married, so I
guess there wasn’t so much to feel bitter about. He wasn’t affectionate, but that was fine – Mum more than made up for it. She could be clingy though. When I was younger, this had
annoyed me, but when everything changed I forgave her for it.

Dad didn’t really engage with Mum being ill. I’m sure he felt guilty. Maybe taking me in was his way of dealing with that. Even now I wasn’t really sure where I stood with Dad
or what he thought of me. I’d learned that he could be quite old-fashioned and that he was surprisingly sentimental, especially about Walthamstow, which was where he grew up. I liked both
these qualities, but it didn’t make building a relationship any easier. At the start he tried to do ‘father–son activities’ like going fishing on the nature reserve, but
they weren’t my kind of thing – or his, I suspected. The only thing we really had in common was we both liked stories – Dad worked in TV, developing scripts and concepts. And when
the weight I’d piled on looking after Mum towards the end fell off, he’d been hot on buying me new gear – smart, older-looking stuff. I felt weird wearing it, but then
I’d’ve felt weird wearing anything new, so I let him have his way. Eventually we slipped into a relationship where we talked but didn’t really talk, and as Dad was so busy with
work, I guessed that was the best I could expect.

At first I’d thought I was taking moving in with Dad pretty well. I couldn’t help being off with Tamsin – no one wants a stepmum who’s younger, prettier and healthier
than the mum you’ve just lost – but I managed to find things to like about the house. My room was fine, the kitchen was great and the area wasn’t too bad, with the old houses and
nature reserve where I could take Jessie, who Dad had been cool with taking in. It was on the first day of school that I realized how out of my depth I was.

For starters, there was a big hefty security guy at the door who checked kids and their bags for
weapons
. Coming from a sleepy town in Yorkshire, I’d always assumed that this kind
of thing only happened in films. It turned out I was wrong. Then there was my tutor group, which I couldn’t help but notice was incredibly multiracial. Where I’d lived before almost
everyone had been white. Not that race bothers me, but it was a bit overwhelming and I was terrified of accidentally saying something that could be taken the wrong way. Later I realized that
despite all their different backgrounds, the kids weren’t so different after all. Even the kids for whom English was a second language seemed to speak in the same aggressive-sounding London
way, and they all dressed the same outside school and hung out together.

What I was aware of was how I came across to them. The first time I’d spoken, someone went, ‘Ohmy
days
!’ and the others laughed. A girl had asked, ‘Which country
you from then?’ and I hadn’t known how to answer. My accent wasn’t that Northern, and yet these kids acted like I was impossible to understand.

When a tall blonde girl who spoke in a way that said she was something marched up at break and announced that she was going to show me round, I was stressed out enough to be sure this was a
joke. It didn’t make it easier that the girl was pretty, though not the in-your-face way lots of the others were, with their long nails and bling jewellery.

I let her take me on the tour because she wouldn’t take no for an answer, but the more I saw, the more out of place I felt. Everyone seemed tough and loud and upfront and grown-up, talking
about people and things I’d never heard of in slang that made no sense to me. They made me feel immature and somehow empty. How could I connect with anyone when most of them laughed at my
accent every time I opened my mouth? The stuff I enjoyed – reading books, watching classic old films and making good food – didn’t seem to matter here. Forget up north; I might as
well have been an alien.

By the time Imogen Maxwell – the bossy blonde girl – rounded up a group and took me to lunch in the canteen, I’d had enough.

‘Thanks for the offer, but I’ve got a phone call to make.’ It was the first excuse I could think of.

‘No mobiles allowed.’ Imogen’s wry tone told me this wasn’t a popular rule. ‘Keep it on silent and in your bag, OK?’

Frustrated, I tried, ‘I’m really not hungry.’

‘Hey, the canteen food’s not
that
bad! There’s no rule that says you’ve got to eat. Just sit and chill instead.’

What did she think I was going to find to talk about with her and her mates for a whole hour? It was already clear we were worlds apart. Imogen’s assumption that I wanted to hang out, like
I should be grateful for her time, really got my back up. It was my choice who I did or didn’t make friends with, and it was my choice if I wanted to be alone. Who was she to decide I needed
looking after, when I’d done a perfectly good job looking after myself and Mum for so long?

‘I said no, thanks,’ I snapped. Imogen called something I didn’t catch as I walked away, but I didn’t bother turning back. I spent lunchtime in an empty classroom playing
games on my phone, trying to convince myself I was better off on my own. During my afternoon lessons I pointedly avoided making eye contact with anyone. I was hoping that English literature last
thing would at least give me the opportunity to lose myself in a book for an hour or so, but the teacher had to fight with the rowdy class to get them to pay any attention at all to William
Blake’s poems. Shame really - if they’d just shut up long enough to actually read one, they might realize how brilliant they were.

The next day I felt even less like being around people. At break I was wandering the corridors looking for somewhere quiet where I could read when Imogen and Nadina found me.

‘Need a hand finding anything?’ Imogen asked, rather pointedly.

‘I’m fine, thanks.’ I said.

She tilted her head to one side, folding her arms. ‘So, what kind of things are you into?’

After English yesterday, I thought it better not to mention books. I’d only have the piss taken out of me. And saying that I liked classic old films and was good at cooking were both a
definite no-no. I shrugged and said something about having a dog. Nadina snorted.

‘Ain’t no dog-walking club here. She’s asking cos she wants to see what you might want to join.’

‘What makes you think I want to join one of your clubs?’ I said, more rudely than I’d meant to. Did this girl even realize how bossy she was? After a silence that went on a bit
too long, Imogen said coolly, ‘We’ll leave you to it then,’ and left. A week down the line, no one was bothering with me at all. They’d written me off and I was glad. Being
a nobody, a loner, was something I was comfortable with.

A nobody to everybody but Imogen, that was. I caught her frowning at me in lessons, like I was some kind of equation that she couldn’t quite solve.

Well, I don’t get you either, and I don’t know why you’re so interested, I thought. For one of the in-crowd, Imogen was pretty odd. She genuinely seemed to care about school
stuff, like charity sales and shows and sports day, things cool kids always take the mick out of. But Imogen simply steamrolled over the mick-taking and acted as if they were the weirdos. She was
very businesslike about it all. Was she really a good person or just going through the motions? I couldn’t tell. Everyone had a story that made them who they were. What was hers?

THURSDAY 14 NOVEMBER

I walked back to Sam’s, wondering what to say to Tamsin. So much for a good turn! I thought of Jessie, with her placid, world-weary air, and my stomach twisted. I should
go back to the park. She could still be there. But I was scared. What if those guys were still hanging about? What if they were trying to find me?

I
can’t
, I thought. Now that I was OK my limbs were doing the jelly-like shaking thing I recognized from Saturday night. If I went back and got into more trouble I wasn’t even
sure I’d be able to run.

Jessie would turn up. Someone might have found her already. I hadn’t looked at her collar, but it probably had a tag on or perhaps she was microchipped. Or she might have tried to get home
on her own. Though there was that bloody busy road between the park and Sam’s. Unless she was lucky, she’d never make it. Christ! If she got run over, it would be on my head.

As I neared Sam’s, I half expected to see a dog-shaped mound in the gutter. When I turned the final corner I froze. There it was. A dark shape by the edge of the road. Not moving.

A yap from ahead startled me. I looked up and there she was, standing at the front door of the house. The ‘body’ was a bin bag. I raced over, choked with relief.

‘Jessie!’

She wagged her tail, then looked pointedly at the front door. Against the odds, she’d crossed that road. Man, for all I knew, she’d waited for the green man at the traffic lights! I
didn’t care how she’d done it. I was just bloody glad she had.

Back home no one was in. Dad usually left around now, but Mum and Benno should have been here. It was only when I was done showering that I remembered. Mum had an office party
tonight. She’d mentioned she’d be popping home to get changed after work, but I was supposed to stay in to babysit Benno!

Sorry, bro, I thought. He’d be none too pleased at having to sit in the corner at Mum’s work while she and her colleagues drank cheap wine. Wrapping myself in a towel, I rifled
through my jeans to check my phone. Sure enough, Mum had called several times. I deleted her voicemails. I didn’t feel like listening to a ticking-off.

Phone. That was what the guys in the park had wanted. Now that I was thinking straight . . . it was weird for me to run into a random mugging, given everything else that had happened. I mean
– what were the chances?

‘Let it go, freak,’ I said out loud. ‘It’s not connected. Just bad luck.’

I settled down in the living room. Being home alone wasn’t something that happened often. I wasn’t sure how to kill the time. I didn’t fancy doing homework or
watching TV. Normally on an evening like this I’d hang out with Nadina or Ollie, but Nads had enough crap on her plate right now and Ollie would go spare if he knew I’d been to
Sam’s, not once, but twice.

Where are you, Sam? I thought. He didn’t have friends that I knew of. Tamsin would’ve tried family. Was Sam afraid of putting people in danger? Was that why he’d kept
everything from me? I’d tried texting him, with no response. Clearly he had decided to stop talking to me altogether.

My phone vibrated. I was surprised enough to drop it. Jesus, I really was jumpy. Picking it up, I saw it was a text from an unknown number.

We saw you both there. give us the phone.

I stared at those nine words. Slowly, then more rapidly, my heart began to pound. My thoughts leaped to the guys in the park.

Phone, phone, phone.

‘How did they get my number?’ I whispered.

Why would someone want my phone? It wasn’t new. There was nothing special on there. At least I didn’t think there was. I checked my messages and pictures. They were all regular
things I couldn’t see being of interest to anyone but me. Could this text be for someone else? Not likely. Not after the park.

I went to the front door and bolted it. Then I pulled the living-room curtains closed. If anyone was outside I didn’t want them to see me.

We saw you both there. give us the phone.

OK, I thought. Three questions: Where is there? Who is both? And who is us? Actually, make that four. What the hell is so important about my phone?

The doorbell rang. I shrank back, my breath catching in my throat. When it rang again I went to the living-room door, inching it open so I could see the front door. A shadow flickered behind the
glass. One person. Someone tall.

My phone vibrated. This time it was ringing. It was Ollie.

‘Hi,’ I whispered.

‘Hey,’ Ollie said. ‘Where are you?’

‘Home. Ollie, there’s someone outside –’

‘Duh! That’s me!’ I felt my muscles ease up. ‘Who did you think it was?’

I opened up. Ollie stood outside, wearing a striped scarf. He didn’t look too happy, and at the sight of me his frown deepened.

‘You look like a wreck.’ He said, leaning in with a hug. He smelt of ash. I wondered who he’d been with. Far as I knew, none of Ollie’s friends smoked.

‘You say the nicest things,’ I replied. We went to the kitchen and I poured him a pineapple juice. Ollie didn’t do hot drinks. He took the glass, looking at me quizzically as I
leaned against the sideboard.

‘Someone bothered you? Need me to sort ’em out?’

‘I’m in one piece. Which, given tonight, is something.’ I waved my phone at him. ‘What do you make of this?’

Ollie read the text. I took back the phone and told him what had happened in the park. I pretended I’d been walking the terrier from over the road rather than Jessie.

Ollie frowned, massaging my shoulder with his free hand. It felt good. Comforting even. And he looked worried, more worried than I’d expected. It reminded me of how he’d been that
afternoon when he’d given me chocolates. Perhaps we could get things back in that zone rather than all this stupid suspicion.