The Art of Being Normal (14 page)

The day after the fireworks display in Eden Park, Leo doesn’t eat lunch in the canteen.

‘Are he and Alicia Baker going out then?’ Essie muses as she picks the carrots out of her chicken pie with her fork.

‘How should I know?’ I reply.

‘It certainly looked like it last night,’ she says. ‘They were all over each other.’

‘Like I said, I don’t know,’ I say irritably.

Essie and Felix exchange looks. I pretend not to notice.

That afternoon, when Mum picks Livvy and me up after school and we drive past the bus stop, Leo is nowhere to be seen.

I don’t see Leo the following Monday either.

On Tuesday, I wait in the library until five o’clock but Leo fails to appear for our maths session.

During morning break the following day, I spot Alicia Baker with Ruby Webber and Becky Somerville outside the tuck shop.

‘Alicia?’

She doesn’t hear me at first. I cough and repeat her name, louder this time.

She turns to face me. Her eyes are all bloodshot.

‘Yes?’ she says, looking through me like I’m a ghost.

‘Er, is Leo poorly? I haven’t seen him all week.’

Becky Somerville puts a protective arm round Alicia’s shoulder.

‘No, she hasn’t. And she doesn’t want to either.’

‘Becky, don’t,’ Alicia says quietly.

‘Why? What’s he done?’ I ask, looking from Alicia to Becky.

‘Only gone and broken my best friend’s heart!’ Ruby interjects, shoving an unwrapped Snickers bar into Alicia’s hand.

‘Guys, stop it,’ Alicia says, looking at her feet.

‘What happened?’ I ask.

‘Like she’s going to tell you! Alicia is too upset to even talk to us about it,’ Ruby says, stroking Alicia’s hair. ‘That’s how heartbroken she is.’

‘But when she is ready to tell us,’ Becky says. ‘Leo Denton is going to wish he’d never been born.’

Alicia closes her eyes.

‘Guys, I said stop,’ she says softly.

‘Not that it’s any of your business,’ Ruby snaps at me. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse us.’

She tosses her hair over her shoulder and together she and Becky link arms with Alicia and steer her away from me.

I stare after them. The last time I saw Leo and Alicia together they were snuggled by the bonfire, looking totally loved-up.

This doesn’t make any sense.

After school I head to the admin office where Miss Clay, one of the school secretaries, confirms Leo has not been in school since last Thursday – the day of the fireworks display in Eden Park.

I head to the library, sit down at our usual table and try to complete some of the maths problems we were working on last week, but I can’t concentrate. Without Leo, the numbers twist about on the page, mocking me, and after twenty minutes I give up and go home.

I would ring Leo, but I don’t have his mobile number. I suggested exchanging numbers several times, but he always resisted, making an excuse or changing the subject. I consider asking Alicia whether she has it, but when I see her at school the next day she’s flanked by Becky and Ruby – her unofficial bodyguards.

This is how, on Thursday after school, I find myself boarding the number fourteen bus bound for Cloverdale. Luckily Mum thinks I’m meeting Leo for tutoring, so I’ve got a few hours to kill before she sends out a search party.

The journey takes what seems like for ever, quickly leaving behind the tree-lined streets of Eden Park and heading
south for unfamiliar territory. We pass Cloverdale School, its grounds dark and empty. The building itself resembles a fat office block marooned in the centre of a concrete car park. Behind the school, I can just about make out a tangle of trees, the only greenery in sight. When we stop a bunch of Cloverdale kids clamber on to the bus, rattling past me and up the stairs, and I can’t help but feel glad I chose to sit downstairs, near the driver.

A few minutes later a robotic voice announces the next stop is Cloverdale Estate – East Side. I haven’t a clue which side of Cloverdale Leo lives on, so I figure this is as good a place as any to get off and press the bell.

Although at least five other people get off the bus at the same stop as me, they quickly scatter, disappearing down alleyways, or into waiting cars, swallowed up by the estate, and within a minute I am all alone.

Cloverdale is even quieter than I remember it. I glance over each shoulder before taking out my iPhone and waiting for the GPS signal to kick in. I type in the name of Leo’s street – Sycamore Gardens, and begin to walk, following the pulsing blue cursor on the screen. The route takes me past a small parade of shops in the centre of the estate, some of them already shut up for the day, thick metal grilles pulled down over their windows. Others are unoccupied altogether, just empty shells with faded signs and whitewashed windows. The only shop open for customers appears to be a small supermarket at the far end of the parade. Half the window is boarded up, shards of broken glass glinting on the concrete paving slabs like glitter.
Outside the shop, a group of boys wearing the Cloverdale School uniform of grey trousers and navy and yellow sweatshirt are mucking about, shouting and throwing crisps at each other. I look down to check my Eden Park blazer is not visible beneath my coat, and slide my iPhone into my pocket. I suddenly regret not postponing my mission until the weekend, when I could have come in the daylight with Phil at my side. Not that he’s a very effective guard dog, plus he gets sick on the bus, but still, it would have surely felt less scary than this.

It’s dusk when I finally enter Sycamore Gardens. I identify Leo’s house immediately by its overgrown garden and broken front gate. I’m relieved to find the living-room lights on, and the faint drone of the television just audible as I tread through the long grass towards the front door. I look for a doorbell. There isn’t one so I rattle the flimsy letterbox and wait. A few seconds later I hear the jangle of keys followed by the turning of the lock. The door eases open a few centimetres, constricted by the safety chain, and a small pale face belonging to a little girl peeks up at me through the gap. She has watery blue eyes and something dark, chocolate maybe, smeared round her mouth.

‘What do you want?’ she demands.

‘Er, is Leo in?’ I ask.

‘Nope.’

‘Tia, who is it?’ a female voice calls.

‘Dunno, someone for Leo,’ the little girl, who I guess is Tia, calls back.

Another few seconds pass before a second face appears
above Tia’s, its owner in possession of a very familiar pair of eyes. They appraise me for a moment before the safety chain is released and the door is opened fully, revealing a teenage girl dressed in a leopard print onesie with bleached blonde hair piled on top of her head.

‘Can I help you?’ she asks, folding her arms.

‘I’m looking for Leo?’ I stammer, peering behind her into the living room. I can make out an orange three-piece suite that dominates the small space, and half of a huge TV set. The girl notices me looking and puts her arm on the doorframe to block my view.

‘And you are?’ she asks.

‘Er, David, a mate of Leo’s from school.’

She raises her eyebrows. ‘The one he’s been spending all this time with?’

‘I guess so.’

‘I’m his sister, Amber.’

‘Nice to meet you,’ I say, extending my hand. Her arms remain folded and she stares at me, as if to say, are you for real? I drop my hand to my side and pretend to wipe it on my trousers.

‘Leo’s not here, by the way,’ Amber says.

‘He’s not? Oh. Well, do you know where he is?’

‘Down the baths, I think.’

I screw up my face apologetically. ‘Sorry, down the where?’

‘The baths? The old swimming baths. Down the bottom of Renton Road?’

I shake my head.

Amber rolls her eyes again. ‘You’re not from round here, are you?’

‘Er, no.’

‘That was a rhetorical question by the way,’ she says.

‘Oh.’

‘Tia!’ she calls.

By now Tia has scampered back into the living room and is engrossed in a noisy episode of
Horrible Histories.

‘Yeah,’ Tia calls back.

‘I’m going out for about ten minutes. Don’t open the door to any strangers.’

‘OK!’

Amber grabs a coat from the pile draped over the banister and pulls it on over her onesie.

‘I don’t want to be any trouble,’ I say quickly. ‘If you give me the road name I’m sure I could find it on my phone.’

Amber slides her feet into a pair of fluffy pink boots and straightens up.

‘No offence, but a kid like you will get eaten alive around here. I’m surprised you made it this far, to be honest. Nah, best I take you.’

And with that she slams the front door shut behind us and sets off across Sycamore Gardens, leaving me with no choice but to hurry after her.

Amber walks quickly, her mass of white-blonde hair bouncing up and down on her head.

‘Leo didn’t tell me he had an older sister,’ I say, as I scurry along beside her.

‘Probably because he doesn’t,’ she replies.

‘But you said—’

‘We’re twins.’

‘You are?’ I say in surprise. ‘Leo never said so.’

Amber shrugs.

‘It certainly explains it,’ I continue.

‘Explains what?’ Amber says sharply.

‘Your eyes. They’re identical to Leo’s.’

‘Are they?’ she murmurs, before taking a sharp right and leading us down a narrow alleyway. We come out on a main road.

‘There they are,’ she says, pointing across the road towards a large building surrounded by a tall corrugated iron fence, only its arched roof visible over the top. We cross over. Amber leads me round the perimeter of the fence. Every few metres, large signs declaring, ‘Private Property – Trespassers Will be Prosecuted’ are attached to the fence, pretty much all of them daubed with graffiti.

‘What is this place again?’ I ask, folding my arms across my chest and shivering.

‘The old swimming baths,’ Amber replies. ‘Been here since the Victorian times. They closed down a few years ago.’

‘Why?’

‘Health and safety, I think.’

‘And now it’s just derelict?’

‘Pretty much, yeah. There was talk for a while about turning the place into luxury flats but nothing’s happened so far. They’ve probably finally figured out that anyone with enough money to buy a luxury flat wouldn’t be seen dead living in Cloverdale.’

By the time we get round to the back of the building, away from the glow of street lamps, dusk has melted into actual darkness. Amber takes out her mobile phone and shines it over the fence.

‘Here we go,’ she murmurs, loosening one of the fence panels to reveal a small rectangular hole. She motions for me to crawl through it. I hesitate before dropping to my knees and squeezing through the narrow space. I turn, expecting to see Amber crawling after me, but instead she’s pulling the fence panel back into place.

‘Hey, wait! Aren’t you coming in?’ I ask, panic rising in my voice.

She crouches to peer through the hole and looks at me like I’m mad.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘But where do I go now? Where’s Leo?’ I ask.

‘Inside somewhere,’ she says, motioning vaguely. ‘You might need to use your phone to see. It’s pretty dark in there.’

‘Oh, right. Well, er, thanks for bringing me.’

‘You’re welcome,’ she says.

And just like that, Amber is gone, leaving me all alone, crouched in the darkness, possibly about to get murdered. I straighten up and wipe muddy hands on my trousers before groping in my pocket for my phone. I adjust the straps on my backpack and begin to walk round the building. I’m shaking like crazy and several times I almost trip over the piles of rubble in my path. I dare to look around me, noticing the baths themselves are built from handsome red brick and
decorated with intricate stone carvings. At the front I discover a set of stone steps sweeping up to an arched entrance held up by four fat stone pillars. I go up the steps and push at the door, not expecting it to give, but it does and I go tumbling into the foyer, landing on my hands and knees on the marble floor. As I clamber to my feet, the smell of chlorine hits me. Then the sheer quietness. It’s as if all the noise in the world has been sucked out, all apart from the sound of my uneven breathing.

I stand up and begin to walk forward, my legs trembling. I shine my phone over the reception area. To my right there’s an old desk, complete with till and swivel chair. To my left there’s a defunct vending machine, empty. In front of me there’s a set of turnstiles. I go through them and keep walking. I come to the changing rooms – ladies on the left, gents on the right. Out of habit I go into the gents, figuring this will lead me to the pool, and hopefully to Leo. Already I don’t have a clue which part of the fence I crawled through and the prospect of spending the night trapped in an abandoned Victorian swimming pool doesn’t exactly fill me with delight.

It’s pitch-black. My phone beeps, informing me the battery is low. I decide to conserve the power and slide it back into my pocket, resorting to feeling my way round instead. I let my hands roam over the metal lockers, keys still in locks. In one locker there’s a forgotten towel – stiff and sour smelling. Gradually my eyes get used to the dark and I can make out the pegs and benches lining the walls, the showers and urinals. I turn the corner and I’m greeted with a faint glow of light. I make my way towards it.