Only We Know (13 page)

And after I’ve told him everything, Big Moe orders me a taxi on his brand-new phone.

‘Should be about ten minutes, Lauren.’

‘Thanks, Moe.’

‘I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this thing. I preferred the other one. Christ knows where I lost it – must be getting old.’

I warm my bum on the radiator, sipping sickly-sweet tea from a
World’s Best Nurse
mug. ‘I thought you weren’t talking to me or something.’

‘You know I’d never do that.’

‘No, I know. I was just feeling a bit … fragile.’

‘It’s so good to see you, Lauren. And you’re looking great.’

‘I look like shit.’

‘Aye, well, you’ve been out in the rain, haven’t you? But I’m sure you scrub up nice when you want to.’

Big M was the second person I told. If it wasn’t for
my amazing key worker, I’d never have had the courage to tell Mum and Dad.

‘It’s good to see you too, Moe.’

‘Get away with you, you’ll make me cry.’

‘So you’ll talk to my mum then?’

‘I’ll call her when you’re on your way. I’m sure she’ll have calmed down a bit now she knows you’re safe.’

‘And you’ll tell her it’s no big deal and she doesn’t need to worry?’

‘She’s your mum, Lauren. It’s her job.’

‘I wish she’d take a holiday now and then.’

Big Moe taps confusedly on his touchscreen. ‘So, what are you going to do now your little secret’s out?’

Typical Big Moe, making a joke of it. ‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘Harry thinks I should just get on with it.’

Big Moe laughs. ‘Now that’s something I never saw coming – young Harry handing out advice.’

‘He’s done really well, Moe. You should see him at school.’

‘I bet you nearly had a heart attack when
he
walked into the classroom.’

‘It was the school field actually. And he’s changed his hair and everything.’

But now Moe can see for himself. Harry’s standing in the doorway with a huge smile on his face. ‘Reception buzzed me through, Moe. They said it was all right to pop down and say hello.’

Big Moe roars with delighted laughter. ‘Oh dear God, it’s not, is it? Well, look at you.’

‘Hi, Moe.’

‘Well, you know what they say. There’s only one way to make an elephant laugh.’

And we all join in with the punchline: ‘Tell him a gorilla joke!’

Moe spots Harry’s crash helmet. ‘Don’t tell me they’re letting you out on the roads?’

‘It’s only a moped,’ says Harry. ‘I can’t do more than thirty miles an hour. It took me ages to get here.’

‘Thank God for that,’ says Big Moe. ‘You and wee Luke were right little speed freaks.’

A cold blast from the past fills Moe’s stuffy office with the temporary sound of silence. The shouting in the corridor gets louder.

‘So, anyway, how have you been, Moe?’ says Harry.

‘Oh, you know, getting older, losing my phone … putting my foot in it as usual. What about you, Harry? Lauren says you’re doing good.’

‘Well, you know, most of the time.’ He taps absentmindedly on his crash helmet. ‘I’ve still got my Happy Box.’

And if I didn’t know Moe better, I’d swear there were tears in his eyes. ‘Well, this is great. I never thought I’d see you guys together again.’

But the noise in the corridor is getting harder to ignore and Big Moe springs into action. He looked pretty short when I was twelve years old; standing next to him now makes me feel like a giant.

‘Sorry, got to go. No rest for the wicked and all that.’
He takes another look at Harry’s crash helmet. ‘You will be careful on that thing, won’t you, Harry?’

‘Don’t worry, Moe, he’ll be fine. If he went any slower he’d be going backwards.’

‘At least I’ll be getting home tonight,’ Harry said, smiling. ‘What are you going to do, Lauren – walk?’

‘Walk! Not bloody likely. I am going in a taxi.’

Dad pays the taxi driver, while Mum whisks me up to my room. Tilda’s sitting at the top of the stairs crying.

‘What happened?’ she says, a mouse’s tail of mascara on her cheek.

‘Nothing really, I just lost it for a bit.’

‘Why did you even go there?’

‘I don’t know. I thought it might make me feel better.’

‘So is it true that Harry was in Oakhill House too?’

‘Yes.’

‘And do you think —’

But Mum’s obviously desperate to get me alone. She pushes me into my bedroom and closes the door behind us.

‘So tell me what happened.’

‘Didn’t Big Moe explain?’

‘Yes he did, Lauren. But I want to hear it from you.’

‘Well, I —’

‘And where did you get that coat?’

‘Someone gave it to me.’

‘What?’

‘It’s okay, Mum. I hitched a lift with this lady and she practically insisted.’

‘Hitch-hiking. My God, you didn’t, did you?’

‘It was fine, honest. Look, I know you were worried and everything, but nothing happened. I just —’

‘I don’t even want to think about it right now. You’re safe and that’s the main thing. Why don’t you have a nice bath and go to bed?’

‘But, Mum, I want to tell you about —’

‘Dad’s going to take tomorrow morning off work. We can talk about it then.’

‘What about school?’

‘Well, you can’t go back, can you?’

And as soon as I say it, I know it’s what I want. ‘Of course I can. It’s the fashion show tomorrow. I need to be there first thing to check my outfits.’

‘I’m sorry, darling, you’re not thinking straight. We wondered about home schooling for a bit – you were quite keen on the idea once.’

‘No way.’

‘But if someone at school knows about you, you’ve got no choice.’

‘I
do
have a choice, Mum. That’s the whole point. And I’m not on my own any more. If someone’s got something to say to me, they can say it to my face.’

A mountain of lost property lies mouldering in the corner. I pace the sweaty equipment store in the yellow beach dress. Despite the massive butterflies flapping their wings in my stomach, all I want to do now is get on with it.

‘It’s the St Thomas’s wedding of the year,’ says Harry, his crudely amplified voice echoing around the sports hall. ‘The pageboys are in blue suits with ivory waistcoats and pink cravats …’

A few wolf whistles.

‘… and the bridesmaids look simply gorgeous in their beaded-bodice pleat dresses from Dressed to Kill in East Street. And, by the way, Magda has asked me to remind you there’s a five per cent discount if you mention St Thomas’s to the manager.’

A sarcastic ‘Oooeeeooo.’

‘And here they are, the happy couple.’

It’s the loudest cheer of the night, by about a million decibels.

‘The bride’s ivory ball gown comes courtesy of Briding My Time, and the groom’s grey morning suit is available at all branches of Moss Bros.’

The crowd goes absolutely mental.

Thirty ear-splitting seconds later, my blushing form tutor floats into the equipment store. ‘The atmosphere out there’s amazing,’ says Miss Hoolyhan. ‘Did you hear the reception we got?’

‘I told you you would.’

‘I think even Colin … I mean, Mr Catchpole, enjoyed it.’

‘Brilliant.’

‘And the photos of Westminster Abbey were perfect.’

‘Thanks, miss.’

‘I think I’ll watch the rest from backstage. Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten your quick change.’

‘Would you like me to help you out of that dress first, miss?’

‘Do you know, I think I’ll keep it on for a bit.’ She runs a loving hand across the intricate tapework. ‘Not nervous, are you, Lauren?’

‘No, miss.’

‘Well, you certainly don’t need to be, because you look lovely. Anyway, good luck, and I’ll see you on the catwalk!’

Harry introduces the Year Seven recycling project.

Time for a final check in the mirror; just this track and I’m on. Luckily the yellow beach dress looks pretty stunning (though I say it myself) and the Great Wall of Eczema,
which only this morning was clearly visible from outer space, has all but vanished. But I was lying about not being nervous. I’m petrified. The thought that someone out there knows about me is doing my head in.

I collapse onto the blue PE mats, acupressuring my temples with my index fingers and trying to get it together. But the music’s so loud I can hardly hear myself think; so loud that at first I don’t recognise her.

‘Mind if I come in?’

‘Eh?’

‘I just wanted to —’

‘Oh it’s you. Are the stomach cramps better then? I thought you weren’t coming.’

‘I wasn’t.’

She’s still in school uniform. She must have rushed up here at the last minute.

‘Well, I’m really glad you did.’

Talk about role reversal. For the second time in twenty-four hours, it looks like Tilda’s the one who’s been crying.

‘There’s something I—’

But she can’t get the words out.

‘What’s the matter, Tilds? Are you okay?’

She sits beside me, her shoulders trembling. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’

‘I’m on in a minute. Can it wait?’

‘Not really, no.’

She looks so awful. ‘This isn’t about a boy, is it?’

‘Kind of.’

‘Then I probably won’t be much help. But you can give it a try if you want.’

Silence, apart from three hundred screaming St Thomas’s kids and their even rowdier parents.

And when Tilda does speak, it doesn’t make sense. ‘It was me.’

‘What?’

‘I said it was me.’

‘Eh?’

‘It was me that sent you all that … stuff.’

At first I think I haven’t heard her right. ‘What are you talking about, Tilds?’

‘The dinosaur … Paddington Bear with the knife in his back.’

It takes me a while to process what she’s saying.

‘Why would you do that?’

‘Because I was angry with you; I wanted to make you suffer.’

‘But why? I thought you and me were okay again?’ I’m still numb; still shocked.

Tilda hates Coldplay. But that’s not why she’s struggling to get the words out. ‘You have no idea what it’s like – being your sister. What they did to you was terrible. But I had it nearly as bad you know: all the crap on Facebook; jokers lining up in the playground to have a pop at me; graffiti on practically everything I owned. And
I
hadn’t even done anything. Then when you ran off to the States with Mum because you couldn’t hack
it any more, I’m still stuck there having the piss ripped out of me.’

My own sister. I don’t believe it.

‘At least I had a few friends that stuck by me. The next thing I know we’re moving miles away and I’m not allowed to see them any more.’

‘We all agreed it was for the best.’

Tilda nods. ‘Yeah, and maybe it would have been if you’d done what you said and kept your head down. But we’d only been here two minutes and you were signing up for sodding fashion shows. It was almost like you wanted someone to find out.’

‘No, I was just —’

‘I thought if I frightened you enough, you wouldn’t do it.’

‘I nearly didn’t.’

‘But it stopped being about that when you started seeing Harry. I was so angry, especially after what happened last time.’ She sniffs up a gobbet of snot. ‘It felt like you were the only one that Mum and Dad cared about. I just wanted to hurt you.’

‘How could you even
think
like that?’

‘I know. When I saw you last night, I realised what a total bitch I’d been, that I was just as bad as the rest of them. No,
worse
– your own sister making your life a misery. You didn’t deserve that.’

‘No, I didn’t.’ The numbness is wearing off, I’m starting to feel anger bubble up.

‘I’ve missed you … Lauren.’

It stops me in my tracks. I can hardly believe my ears. That’s the first time she’s used my real name. ‘Okay, okay I get it. At least I
kind
of get it. So I’m going to ask you this one more time, Tilda. Do you really think we can make this sister thing work?’

‘Yeah,’ she says, wiping her nose on her school jacket. ‘I reckon we can.’

And I should probably leave it there, but there’s one more question I have to ask. ‘What did it all mean, anyway – Paddington Bear and the rest of them?’

‘Think about it,’ says Tilda.

Deep down I knew all along. But it’s as if it suddenly dawns on me. ‘Oh. Yeah … right. They were … Luke’s favourite toys, weren’t they?’

And for the briefest moment, Tilda’s face goes into mourning. ‘I miss
him
too,’ she says.

But the familiar guitar riff with the insistent bassline means only one thing. I jump up from the PE mats and race to the door. ‘That’s my cue, Tilds. I’ll see you in a minute.’

‘No, wait,’ she says, racing after me and grabbing hold of my hand. ‘There’s something else.’

‘Look, I can’t deal with this right now, Tilda. I’ve gotta go.’

‘No, Lauren, you can’t.’

‘Haven’t you done enough?’ I say, grabbing my hand back and pushing angrily past her. ‘You’ve made a pretty
good job of messing with my head, but you are
not
going to stop me walking down that runway to my favourite song.’

‘You don’t understand, I —’

But I can’t hear her. The Beatles classic 1969 hit single, ‘Get Back’ is filling the sports hall. And the atmosphere backstage is electric. Excited Year Sevens in their bin-liner and cornflake-packet ensembles high-five me as they run giggling towards their changing area, Miss Hoolyhan mouths a smiley ‘good luck’, and even Katherine looks up from her laptop to offer me an ironic two-fingered peace sign.

I take my place at the foot of the catwalk alongside a glistening figure in swimming trunks.

‘All right, Dizzy?’ says Conor Corcoran. ‘You look a bit—’

‘I’m fine,’ I snap. ‘In fact, I couldn’t be better, Conor. But what about you? What have you done to yourself?’

‘Well, you’ve got to oil up, haven’t you? Tell you what, babe, maybe later on you could rub it in for me.’

‘In your dreams.’

When the chorus comes in, we start walking.

And I’m so up for it. At least now Tilda’s told me everything, I know my secret’s still safe. I am
not
going to let her ruin the whole night for me.

‘Conor is wearing black floral swimming shorts with a hidden tie string – let’s hope he doesn’t get sand kicked in his face. And the lovely Lauren is wearing a lace-panel
yellow sundress – perfect for those lazy summer days.’

It feels fantastic, strutting down the runway to my favourite song. The audience seem to be loving it too, screaming their approval and stamping their feet. Even Dad’s smiling. And with Harry at the side of the stage to share the moment with me, it couldn’t be more perfect.

But when I get to the front and start posing, something strange happens.

The screaming stops, and then turns to a feverish murmur. A second later the music cuts out. That’s when I see the kids in the third row pointing, and I half wonder if Conor Corcoran is doing something inappropriate behind my back. But as soon as I turn round, it all becomes clear.

‘Jesus … no.’

The whispering stops. An eerie quiet fills the sports hall.

There on the screen at the back of the catwalk are three life-sized images. The first is a nine-year-old boy in an Arsenal football shirt, the second a screenshot from a YouTube video of an awkward teenager in a flowery blouse with too much make-up and the hint of a moustache, and the third is a sixteen-year-old girl on her first day at St Thomas’s, posing unwillingly for her mum’s iPhone next to a single hand, the rest of whose body has been brutally amputated.

So far so random.

Except there’s probably something else I should tell you.

All three photographs are of me.

But just in case someone out there doesn’t get it, the caption underneath reads:

HOW LUKE BECAME LAUREN