‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘That must’ve sounded so stupid.’
More silence. Then Luke said: ‘Do you know anything? Do you know where she went?’
‘I promise I don’t,’ I told him. ‘If I did, I wouldn’t keep it to myself.’
‘Not even to protect Zoe?’
‘No, of course not.’ I leaned against my bedroom wall, bile in my throat. ‘I just want Kerry to come back safe.’
‘They keep calling her the Mis-per,’ Luke said, sounding suddenly furious.
‘What’s a Misper?’
‘It’s short for missing person. Like she’s not real, she’s just a ...project. A job. I keep saying, call her Kerry. Her name is Kerry.’
I didn’t know how to reply to that.
‘They’ve been searching our house. They’ve been in every room and every cupboard and up in the loft. They think we’ve done something to her.’
‘Is that why they keep taking stuff from your house?’
Luke sniffed. ‘They just say it’s routine. That’s their answer to every question – routine. But what they really mean is, they think we’ve hurt our Kerry. How could they think that, Anna?’ It sounded like Luke was crying. Actually crying. I felt like a big stupid lump of uselessness. And guilt.
November 3
Monday. And still no Kerry. Almost everyone at school knew she was missing, because it had been on the local TV news and the ones that didn’t soon found out, because the police came into assembly and said anyone who could help their enquiries should get in touch.
Some of the girls came up to me in the toilets, wanting to know all the details.
‘She knows more than she’s letting on,’ one of them said. ‘I can tell by her face.’
‘And if that Zoe was involved,’ another one of them started and they all agreed that Zoe would have had some hand in Kerry’s disappearance. ‘She was always picking on her.’
‘You were all always picking on her,’ I burst out and somehow, I found the nerve to walk through them towards the door. One of them pushed me hard so that I stumbled, but I kept walking.
The best parts of that day where when people left me alone. Even the teachers kept giving me that sad, sympathetic look and Mrs Bennett said if I wanted to talk about anything, I could always come to her. Like I would talk to a teacher.
And afterwards, when the police women said that Zoe was in hospital, I begged and begged them to tell me what had happened. Eventually Jenny said that when they’d gone to check out the flat, the day after the party, they’d found Zoe there, on her own. She’d taken some kind of pills and drink and they’d had to rush her to hospital. They’d known this all the time and hadn’t bothered to tell me. I asked if I could go and see her, but Jenny the Scarecrow shook her head.
‘Not right now,’ she said. ‘Let’s wait and see how she gets on, eh?’
‘Her mum,’ I blurted out. ‘Have you spoken to Zoe’s mum?’
Another silence. More loaded looks between Sandra and Jenny.
‘She hits Zoe,’ I said, before I could stop myself. ‘She makes her life a misery. That’s why Zoe’s been staying at the flat. It’s to get away from her.’
‘Let’s take you back home,’ Sandra said. ‘We need to ask you more questions about this, I’m afraid. The fact is – Zoe’s mother is in hospital too. She has a head injury and we think Zoe may have had something to do with it.’
I heard myself moaning and clapped my hand to my mouth. Jenny’s arm around my back kept me upright as I stumbled back along The Cut.
That evening, there were TV cameras in the street and journalists came knocking on the door. My mum told them to get lost. When a second set of reporters came around, she actually swore at them. Then she called Dad and he came over to sit with us.
Mum just left me alone, knowing I didn’t want to talk right then, but my dad couldn’t do that. He kept quizzing me about what had happened the night before and where the party was and what was this about my having a boyfriend?
‘You’re worse than the police,’ Mum said to him. ‘Leave the poor girl alone. She’s in shock.’
‘I’m sorry, Anna,’ he said. He sat beside me on the sofa and put a big arm around my shoulders. I breathed in the smell of his suit, his aftershave. ‘What do you want me to do?’
I couldn’t find anything to say. I shook my head.
‘Some people are out helping the police to search for Kerry,’ he said. ‘Do you want me to do that?’
‘No, don’t go away,’ I pleaded. ‘Just… just for now.’
We watched the local news. It showed Kerry’s school photo and talked about what she was wearing the night before. Sandra the nice-cop was interviewed, but just for something like twenty seconds. It was long enough for her to say they were now concerned about Kerry’s safety and that if anyone had any information – even if they didn’t think it was important – they should call the police as soon as possible. Then they put a number up on the screen.
November 4
Still no Kerry.
Last night a programme called CrimeSeen filmed some sort of reconstruction of the last things Kerry did. Or, the last things they knew about. An actor girl who didn’t look very much like Kerry at all was shown wearing the same chain-store jacket and waving goodbye to some out-of-shot friends in The Cut. So not how it happened at all. But it was supposed to make someone remember something. Something that would help find Kerry. It would be broadcast early next week, Sandra told us.
‘You’re not expecting to find her before then?’ Dad asked.
Sandra didn’t answer.
Mum let me stay away from school, because I couldn’t eat or sleep. A doctor came and left some pills, but I wouldn’t take them. I sat staring at the darkness outside, past my ghost-white reflection. In
