Is Anybody There?: Seeing is believing

Is Anybody There?: Seeing is believing Jean Ure More comedy, calamity and cool characters from acclaimed-writer Jean Ure.Joanna, Chloe and Dee are the best of friends. They may be seen as outsiders at school, but they’re an inseparable trio. Joanna who narrates the story, lives with her mum. But Mum’s not your normal, average parent – she’s a medium. Cool, you might think, but Jo’s inherited her mother’s psychic ability, which is not really compatible with school life! When one of their classmates goes missing, Chloe and Dee persuade Jo to use her gift to find her – but having a gift is one thing, dealing with the consequences is another… (#u6b05f24e-066e-53ca-89b1-76687df24284) For Emily Crye Table of Contents Cover (#u9f321cc4-60f3-5c43-85c6-3a3f7ceab4a5) Title Page (#u4d0e21f4-7a93-5f2f-860e-62a2c60eb200) Dedication (#u4d0e21f4-7a93-5f2f-860e-62a2c60eb200) One (#u544e6175-4ac7-57c8-81fc-60ce693230a1) Two (#ude715067-75df-578c-b999-32b7b311bc60) Three (#litres_trial_promo) Four (#litres_trial_promo) Five (#litres_trial_promo) Six (#litres_trial_promo) Seven (#litres_trial_promo) Eight (#litres_trial_promo) Nine (#litres_trial_promo) Ten (#litres_trial_promo) Also by the Author (#litres_trial_promo) Copyright (#litres_trial_promo) About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo) (#u6b05f24e-066e-53ca-89b1-76687df24284) Last Christmas when I was in Year 8, I did this really dumb thing. The dumbest thing I have ever done in all my life. I got into a car with someone I didn’t know. OK, so I was only just turned thirteen, which in my experience is an age when you tend to act a bit stupid, thinking to yourself that you are now practically grown up and don’t need to obey your mum’s silly little niggly rules any more. Also, I have to say, it wasn’t like I’d never met the guy. I mean, I knew his name, I knew who he was. I even knew where he lived. But I’d only met him just the one time, just to say hello to, and even that was enough to tell me that he was a bit – well, different. Definitely not the same as other people. In any case, thirteen is way old enough to know better. We’re all taught back in Reception that you don’t go off with strangers. “And that,” as Mum was always drumming into me, “means the man next door, the man over the road, the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker … you don’t go with anyone. Got it?” And out loud I would say, “Yes, Mum!” while inside I would be thinking, “This is just so too much.” Mind you, Dad is every bit as bad, in fact I’m not sure he’s not even worse. Whenever I go up to Birmingham, to stay with him and his new wife Irene, it’s, “Where do you want to go? We’ll take you! You can’t go on your own. Not in Birmingham.” Like Birmingham is one big bad place full of child molesters. Dad says it’s not that, it’s just that Birmingham is a city, and I am not used to being in a city. “I’m sure at home your mother lets you go wherever you want.” I wish! Though actually, to be honest, after last Christmas, I didn’t want to go anywhere on my own. It took me ages to get my confidence back. How it all started, really, was one wet Saturday afternoon towards the end of term; the Christmas term. Chloe and Dee had come round, and we were up in my bedroom. We were huge best mates in those days, the three of us. We’d all gone to St Mary Day from different schools, but we’d palled up immediately. We spent most Saturdays either round at my house, or Dee’s; just occasionally we’d go to Chloe’s, but Chloe had to share a bedroom with her little sister, who was one big pain and totally hyperactive, if you ask me. So we didn’t go there often as it led to scenes, with Jade and Chloe threatening to punch each other’s teeth down their throats or pull their hair out by the roots. Come to think of it, Chloe herself is a bit hyperactive. She’s always on the move, can’t sit still, can’t keep quiet. Can’t stop giggling (when she’s not fighting with her sister). It gets her into terrible trouble at school. Dee, on the other hand, is quite cool and laid back. She is a very serious sort of person. I suppose I would have to say that I am midway between the two. Sometimes I have fits of the giggles, other times I contemplate life and what it all means, and try to think deeply about God and religion and stuff. But I can see, now, looking back on it, that we were a fairly odd sort of threesome. However, we did have a lot of fun, before I went and ruined it all. That particular Saturday afternoon, that Saturday at the end of term, it was pouring with rain drip drip dripping off the trees, plink plonk into the water butt. We were upstairs in my room, all cosily huddled under my duvet with Dee and Chloe doing their best to push me into playing The Game – which makes me think that really, I suppose, before going any further, I should stop and explain what the Game is all about. OK. Basically it’s about me being a bit psychic. Well, more than a bit, actually. According to Mum, I have “the gift”. Mum is also psychic; I get it from her. Only she says that with me it is even stronger than it is with her, or will be, when I am grown up. Mum makes her living as a professional clairvoyant. People come to visit her, and she does readings for them. It is all quite honest and above board. Mum is not a charlatan! She explained to me, once, how clairvoyant simply means “seeing clearly”. She doesn’t pretend to be able to tell what is going to happen in the future. She can tell what might happen, if people keep on doing the things that they are doing, but it is up to them whether they act on what she says. She is not here to change people’s lives for them; only they can do that. She doesn’t use tarot cards or a ouija board, she doesn’t use a crystal ball, or call up spirits from the other side. What Mum does, she asks people to give her some object that they have handled, like it might be a watch, or a bracelet, just something small and personal, and by holding it, and concentrating, she can, like, see inside a person’s mind. She can tell them things about themselves that they hadn’t realised they knew; things that are hidden deep within them. Things, sometimes, that they have deliberately suppressed. Or maybe she’ll dredge up something from their past that they’d forgotten, and suddenly everything will fall into place and make sense and they’ll say, “Ah! Yes. Now I understand.” Some people just come to her out of curiosity; others come because they are unhappy or in trouble. It is very satisfying, Mum says, when you can help someone, but it is also very draining. It takes ever such a lot out of her, which is why she tries not to do more than three sessions in a day. Unfortunately, these sessions quite often take place in the evening or at weekends, which is a bit of a drag, but I have grown used to it. I don’t think Dad ever did, only with him it wasn’t just people coming round and spoiling his evenings, it was the whole thing about Mum being psychic. He just couldn’t handle it, is what Mum says. “He found it a bit creepy; it really used to upset him, poor man! But if you’ve got it, you’ve got it. It’s not something you can just ignore.” It was quite by chance that we discovered I had it. I mean, Mum didn’t give me tests, or anything like that. It happened unexpectedly, without any warning, when I was nine years old. My nan had just died, and Mum was very sad about it, and so was I, although Nan had been ill for a long time and I had never really known her any other way. I’d gone over to the nursing home with Mum, to collect Nan’s stuff, and when we brought it back Mum said that I could have Nan’s gold propelling pencil to keep, in memory of her. “Nan loved that pencil! Grandad gave it to her, when they were first married. She’d have liked you to have it.” I don’t think I’d ever handled a propelling pencil before. While Mum was in the kitchen making tea, I sat playing with it, twiddling the top and making the lead go up and down, and all of a sudden this great surge of joy came over me; I laughed and jumped up, and started dancing all around the room. Mum came in in the middle of it. “Well, I’m glad to see one of us is happy,” she said. There was just this tiny note of reproach in her voice, and it made me feel guilty because how could I be laughing and dancing when Nan had just died? I said to Mum, “I don’t really feel happy. It was Nan! She’s the one that was happy.” “How do you mean?” said Mum. “She was with someone – a man – and they were laughing. And then she kissed him, and they started dancing. And she was just so happy!” “Jo,” said Mum, “what are you talking about?” “Nan!” I held out the pencil. “I saw her! When she was young.” And then I stopped, because obviously I hadn’t even been born when Nan was young, so how could I possibly have known that it was her? But I had! Mum questioned me closely. She made me look at pictures, and I found the man that Nan had been dancing with. It was my grandad, who I’d never met. Doubtfully, Mum said, “Of course, you’ve seen photographs of him. But all the same …” Mum was really upset, and I couldn’t understand it. “Mum, she was happy!” I cried. “Nan was happy!” I thought it would make Mum happy, knowing that, but it didn’t seem to. She said, “Oh, this cursed legacy!” I said, “Who’s Kirsty Leggaty?” Well, I mean, I was only nine; what did I know? Mum then told me that I had the gift. She said she’d been hoping and praying that I wouldn’t have, because although it could be a power for good it didn’t make for an easy life. I said, “But it was nice, seeing Nan!” I think my face must have crumpled, because Mum hugged me and said, “Oh, darling, I’m sure it was. May all your visions be as happy!” We didn’t talk any more about it for a while after that. I didn’t have any more visions, either; not that I can remember. Just one or two when I was in Year 6, but nothing to worry about. Nothing upsetting. It got a bit annoying when I changed schools and it started happening more regularly, but I very soon learnt how to recognise the signs and take avoiding action. Nowadays, I can almost always blot it out. You have to blot things out, or life would become intolerable. Mum is lucky that way, she doesn’t have to. This is why she says my gift is more powerful than hers. Mum actually needs someone to be there, in person, before anything can get through. On the other hand she has to concentrate far harder than I do, which is why it tends to wear her out. On my eleventh birthday, Mum told me that I was old enough, now, to take responsibility for the gift I had been given. “I nearly said, ‘saddled with’, but that wouldn’t be fair. You can do so much good with it, Jo! But you must treat it with respect. It’s not something to just play around with. It’s not a toy.” She told me that just as I could do good with it, I could also do harm. “Do you understand me? I hope you do, because this is serious.” I said that I understood, but I don’t really think I did. It was hard to see what harm it could do, just amusing my friends now and again. Anyway I didn’t ever boast about being clairvoyant, but when Chloe and Dee asked me one day what my mum did, and I told them, and they wanted to know whether I could do it, too – well, naturally, I said yes. So then they wanted me to show them, which I knew Mum would have said I shouldn’t; I knew she would have said it was treating my gift like a toy. But I just didn’t see what was so wrong about it! “It’s only a bit of fun.” That was Chloe. Everything is a bit of fun with Chloe. If things aren’t fun, she can’t see any point in doing them. An attitude which does not go down too well with some of our teachers! Dee, being more serious, said that she could “sort of understand” why Mum was concerned. “After all, being clairvoyant isn’t exactly the same as being musical, or being able to dance, or … do gymnastics, or something.” “Whoever said it was?” wondered Chloe. “What I mean,” said Dee, “is you’re not going to hurt anyone, just playing the piano. But you might hurt someone getting into their mind. Specially if they didn’t want you to, or you discovered something scary.” “Like what?” said Chloe. “Like if someone was going to die.” said Dee. At which Chloe gave a delighted screech and clutched herself round the middle. Honestly! She is just so ghoulish. She is totally mad about horror films, or anything with blood. Not me! Urgh. “That would be so gross!” squealed Chloe. I said, “Yes, it would. How would you like it if I saw that you were going to die?” That shut her up. Well, for a little bit. But there and then, we laid down rules. If we were going to play the Game, we were only going to do it using objects that belonged to people who’d given their permission. “Otherwise,” I said, “it’d be like … well, like prying into someone’s private affairs.” Dee agreed immediately, and after a bit so did Chloe. She said she thought it was a pity, as she would have liked me to do some of the teachers, she thought that would be fun, but Dee and I made her promise – “On your honour!” – that she wouldn’t ever cheat. That way, we thought it would be safe. Even so, we didn’t play The Game too often. For one thing, I had to be in the mood, and for another I always had this slight guilt feeling, like maybe I was doing what Mum had warned me not to: using my gift “irresponsibly”. It did niggle at me every now and again, but I told myself that it was just Mum, fussing. Mums do fuss! All the time, over just about everything. You have to decide for yourself whether it’s a justified fuss, or just a Mum fuss. If it’s just a Mum fuss, then it’s OK to ignore it. Well, anyway, that’s what I told myself. That particular Saturday, what with it being nearly the end of term and Christmas only a couple of weeks away, I guess it was a bit like, “So what? Just a Mum fuss!” We messed about for a while, and I did Chloe’s cousin Dulcie, and had Chloe in fits of the giggles when I saw “Seven little people … I am definitely seeing seven little people! I can’t work out what it means.” Dee said, “Maybe she’s going to get married and have seven babies.” and Chloe squealed and rolled herself up in the duvet. “Is she happy about it?” said Dee. “Mm … yes. I think so. But she’s kind of a bit … anxious.” “You would be,” said Dee, “if you were going to have seven babies!” Chloe squealed again and shot out of the duvet. “She’s not going to have seven babies! She’s playing Snow White in her end-of-term play … Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs!” “That is so politically incorrect,” said Dee. “It’s better than having seven babies,” said Chloe. “Let’s do another one! Do my Auntie Podge. Look! This is her hanky. I did ask her.” But I didn’t want to do Chloe’s Auntie Podge. “I’m tired,” I said. “I’ve had enough.” “But I promised!” wailed Chloe. “I said you’d do her!” “I’ll do her another day.” For a minute it looked like Chloe was going to go off into one of her sulks, but then she suddenly snatched my nightie from under the pillow and cried, “OK, I’ll do you! I’ll tell you what you’re thinking …” She scrunched the nightie into a ball and made this big production of screwing her eyes tight shut and swaying to and fro (which I do not do, though I do close my eyes). After almost swaying herself dizzy, she began to chant in this silly, spooky voice. “Is anybody the-e-e-re? Is anybody the-e-e-re? I see something! I see … a shape! I see … a boy! I see … DANNY HARVEY!” I immediately turned bright pillar-box red. “Told you so, told you so!” Triumphantly, Chloe hurled my scrunched up nightie at Dee. “Told you she was mad about him!” “I am not,” I snapped; but by now my face was practically in flames, so fat chance of anyone believing me. The truth was, I’d had a thing about Danny Harvey ever since half term, when he’d come to our F?te Day with his mum and dad. (His sister Claire’s in Year 7.) He’d visited the cuddly toy stall that I was helping look after. He’d bought a pink bunny rabbit! From me. I thought it was so cool, a Year 10 boy buying a bunny rabbit. I may not know as much as I would like to about boys, but even I know that they would mostly be too embarrassed to buy a cuddly toy! Mary Day, unfortunately, is an all-girls’ school, so we don’t get much of a chance to mix with boys; and if, like me, you are an only child, and specially if your mum and dad have split up, you practically live the life of a nun. Like, the opposite sex is utterly mysterious and you might just as well hope to meet aliens from outer space as an actual boy. But I knew where Danny went to school, it was Cromwell House, just down the road from Mary’s, so by using a different bus stop, and doing a bit of carefully timed lingering and lurking, I did occasionally manage to catch a glimpse of him. For weeks and weeks a glimpse was all, but just a few days ago, joy and bliss! He’d smiled at me and said “Hi”. He’d remembered! He’d recognised me! He knew I was the one that had sold him the bunny! Which, needless to say, had set me off all over again. Just as I thought I might be getting over it … “Poor you,” said Dee; and I sighed, and she hugged me. And although she didn’t say it, I knew what she was thinking: Poor old Jo! She doesn’t stand a chance. It was then that Chloe had her bright idea. We knew that Danny worked weekends and Thursday evenings at the Pizza Palace in the High Street (I had my spies!), so why didn’t we organise an end-of-term celebration for the day we broke up, which just happened to be a Thursday? “We could say it’s for everyone in our class, ’cos they won’t all come, but if it’s just the three of us it might look kind of obvious, or parents might even want to be there …” Dee and I groaned. “Whereas if it’s for the whole class,” said Chloe, “they’re more likely to let us go by ourselves. And then” – she beamed at me – “you can get all dressed up and flirt as much as you like!” Naturally I denied that I would do any such thing; but already I was mentally whizzing through my wardrobe wondering what to wear … (#u6b05f24e-066e-53ca-89b1-76687df24284) Fifteen of us signed up for our end-of-term celebration. We arranged to meet at the Pizza Place at six o’clock so that we could be home by nine, which was what most people’s parents laid down as the deadline, it being December, and dark, and the High Street being full of pubs and clubs and wine bars, not to mention Unsavoury Types that hung about in shop doorways. It was Mum who said they were unsavoury. “Why do you have to go into town? Why can’t you find somewhere local?” I said, “Because not everybody lives somewhere local.” Plus anywhere local is totally naff. “Anyway,” I said, “you don’t have to worry … Dee’s dad will come and pick us up.” “So long as he does,” said Mum. I said, “Mum, he will.” Dee lives just a bit further out from Tanfield, which is the boring suburb where I am doomed to dwell; her dad always gives me a lift. So Mum said all right, in that case she would let me go, and I rushed off to ransack my wardrobe and see what I had that was even remotely wearable, and to ring Dee and tell her that she could go ahead and book a table, or get her mum to. Of the three of us, it was always Dee who did the organising. Chloe was too scatty, she would be bound to get the wrong day, or the wrong time; even wrong year. Mum used to say she was “mercurial”. Dee and I just said she was useless. I am not useless, but Dee is one of those people who always has everything under control. She’s the same at school. She always knows what’s been set for homework, she’s always done her homework. She’s the one who’s always filled in her timetable correctly, the one who tells the rest of us where we’re meant to be, and when. I bet you anything you like she’ll end up as head girl, keeping us all in order. But, oh dear, it was so sad! So unfair. The day before our celebration poor old Dee was carted off to hospital with an asthma attack. She has asthma really badly; her mum said she would never be fit enough by Thursday evening. I was really upset for her, especially after all the hard work she’d put in, but also it meant I had to tell Mum that Mr Franklin wouldn’t be picking me up any more. He probably would have done, if I’d asked him, but Mum wouldn’t hear of it. She said, “We can’t impose on people like that!” But Mum herself couldn’t come and fetch me, she had two sessions booked for that evening, and she said she certainly wasn’t letting me make my own way back. “Not at that time of night. Not in this town. No way!” She told me I was to ring Albert and get myself a cab. Albert is one of her regulars, he’s been coming to her for years. He also happens to run a minicab service, which comes in useful as Mum says he can be relied upon. She wouldn’t normally let me go anywhere near a minicab, but Albert is like a mother hen. When I was little he quite often used to pick me up after school, and always got most tremendously fussed if I wasn’t waiting exactly where I had been told to wait. “A lot of bad people around! You can’t be too careful.” I couldn’t help feeling that a cab all the way from the High Street out to Tanfield was a bit of an extravagance when there was a perfectly good bus that would take me practically door to door, but I didn’t say anything as I knew Mum would freak if I even so much as hinted at jumping on a bus. Instead, I concentrated all my energies on what I was going to wear. It is so important, deciding what you are going to wear! There are different clothes for different occasions, and if you don’t get it right you can find that you have turned up in jeans and trainers while everyone else is dressed to kill. Or even worse, you are dressed to kill and everyone else is in jeans and trainers. That is truly squirm-making! Actually, however, since the contents of my wardrobe would probably fit quite comfortably into a couple of carrier bags, I didn’t really have much choice. I only seem to have clothes for two occasions, one of them being school and the other being – everything else! Which is OK as I am not really a dressing-up sort of person, being tallish and skinnyish without actually having any figure; not to speak of. No bum, no boobs. Just straight up and down. What can you do? I used to envy the others so much! They might not be drop dead gorgeous, but even Dee, who is so slim and bendy, has some shape. She also has silvery blonde hair, cut very smooth and shiny, and always looks just so so neat. Chloe is just the opposite. She is very small and chunky and has no dress sense whatsoever, but because of being vivacious manages to look really bright and perky, like a little animated pixie. I probably look more like sort of … stick arrangement. Mum says that I will “grow into myself”. Meaning, I think, that I will be OK when I finally manage to achieve something resembling a figure. Meanwhile, as I await that glorious day, I tend to wear … you’ve got it! Jeans and trainers. Which is what I put on for the celebration. Dee once told me that I looked good in jeans as I have these very long legs, like I’m walking on stilts. They are, however, not particularly inspiring – the jeans, that is. So to go with them I found a sparkly top, pale pink, that I’d hardly ever worn. I did my hair into a plait, one of those that’s tight into your head rather than a pigtail. I think pigtails are a bit childish, all thumping about, but Dee said that having my hair pulled back made me look sophisticated. To top it off, I wore this very chic hat that I found in a charity shop. It’s like a man’s hat, I think it’s called a fedora. It’s got a high crown and a small brim, and is made from soft felt. It looks really great with jeans! I was quite pleased when I studied myself in the mirror. The only thing wrong was the trainers. What I would really like to have had, what I had been positively lusting after ever since I’d seen them in a shoe shop in town, was a pair of glitter boots. You could get them in either silver with red tassels, or gold with green. It was the silver ones I was lusting after! I’d shown them to Mum, who predictably had said they were totally impractical and wouldn’t last five minutes. But five minutes was all I needed! I was busy saving up, and was praying they would still be there when I’d reached my goal. Saving money, though, is so difficult. I kept finding other things that I just desperately had to have! Entire continents could come and go by the time I managed to get fifty pounds in my account. So I wore my tatty old trainers and my tatty old denim jacket, and Mum got the car out and drove me into town. As she dropped me off outside the Pizza Palace she said, “Shall I ring Albert and book a cab for you?” I was horrified. I said, “Mum, no! I can do it.” The last thing I wanted was Albert turning up, all mother hennish, and dragging me off before we’d properly finished. It’s horrid if you’re the first one to leave. You imagine all the others staying on to have fun after you’ve gone. Mum said, “Well, all right, have it your way – but I want you back no later than nine o’clock. You’d better ring for a cab at 8.30, just to be on the safe side. And don’t you pull that face at me, my girl! You may think you’re some kind of big shot, being in Year 8, but you’re still only th—” “Yeah, yeah!” I hopped out of the car and slammed the door shut behind me. I’d just seen Mel Sanders go mincing into the restaurant, all got up like a Christmas tree. What was more, she was wearing my boots. I could see the little tassels swinging as she walked. Fortunately she’d gone for the gold ones, not the silver; all the same, it was a bad moment. “Joanne?” Mum was banging on the window at me, pointing at her watch. I flapped a hand. “It’s all right, I heard you. Don’t fuss!” Of the fifteen of us, only ten actually turned up, but ten was probably about right, given the amount of noise we made! To be honest, I didn’t actually realise we were making any until a woman at a table nearby came over and asked if we could “be a little bit quieter … I can hardly hear myself think!” So then I stopped to listen, and I had to admit, she had a point. I have noticed that adults are very sensitive to decibel levels, and ours was certainly well up. Chloe, sitting next to me, was screeching at the top of her voice, which is quite loud enough even when she isn’t screeching. Louise Patterson, at the far end of the table, was doing her best to stuff half her pizza into someone’s mouth, Carrie Newman was having hysterics (well, that’s what it sounded like), Lee Williams seemed to have got drunk on Coca Cola and Marsha Tate was tipping backwards on her chair, and honking like a car horn. Our mums would not have been pleased. Nor would our class teacher, Mrs Monahan. She was always on about “gracious behaviour in public”. We weren’t behaving very graciously! But most of us hadn’t ever been out for a meal on our own before, i.e. without grown-ups to keep us in their vice-like grip. I know I hadn’t. I suppose it rather went to our heads, but it was the best fun. I have to say, however, that it would have been even huger fun if Mel Sanders hadn’t been there. That girl is so … obnoxious! She is so obvious. Where members of the opposite sex are concerned, I mean. She is one of those people, she only has to catch the merest glimpse of a boy in the far dim distance and she goes completely hyper. If there is one actually sharing her breathing space, well, wow! That is it. Fizz, bang, wallop, firing on all cylinders. Eyes flashing, teeth gleaming, boobs thrust out as far as they will go. (Which isn’t very far, as a matter of fact, but she makes it look as if it is.) I guess it’s something to do with her hormones, she probably has too many of them, and she just can’t help herself. For all I know, it could even be some kind of disease. All I can say is that the effect is extremely irritating since boys, poor things, seem incapable of taking their eyes off her. It’s like she has some kind of mesmeric power. In this case it was specially irritating as clever Chloe had managed to get us moved from the first table they gave us, where a girl came to take our order, to another one over by the window. She had been watching, with her beady eyes, and had seen that over by the window was where Dreamboy Danny operated. I hasten to add that I didn’t call him Dreamboy. I have better taste than that! Dreamboy was Chloe’s nickname for him. “He’s over there,” she whispered. “Let’s move!” She claimed she was too near the smoking area (“I get this really bad asthma”) so we all trooped over to the windows and there was Danny, with his order pad – and there was Mel, with her eyes going into overdrive, and I might just as well not have been there. If it is a disease that she’s got, I wouldn’t mind having a bit of it myself. Not enough to make me ill, or anything; but it would be nice to be able to mesmerise boys. As it was, I don’t think Danny even noticed me; or if he did, he didn’t show any signs of actual recognition. I guess maybe I look different when I’m not in school uniform. All the same … big sigh! He’d recognise Mel if she turned up in a bin bag. Round about half past eight, people’s parents started arriving and I dutifully rang Albert on my mobile, only I couldn’t get through as the number was engaged, and while I was waiting for it to become unengaged I started thinking things to myself. It was totally stupid spending all that money on a cab when I could just as easily walk a few hundred yards up the road and catch a bus. I’d still be home by nine – well, nineish – and I wouldn’t need to tell Mum how I’d got there. Which meant I could put the money I’d saved towards the glitter boots! I wanted those boots more than ever after seeing Mel in a pair. I think I felt that if I had the boots I might also have the hypnosis thing and be able to get boys to take notice of me. Maybe. I know it was bad, when I’d given Mum my word, but I was, like, desperate. I’d just spent the whole evening being totally overlooked by the boy I loved! Well, OK, perhaps love is a bit strong, but I truly did fancy him like crazy. Believe me, if you have never experienced it, I am here to tell you that fancying a boy who has eyes Only for Another can make you behave in ways you normally wouldn’t dream of. At any rate, that is my excuse because it is the only one I can think of. I snatched up my jacket and rushed out into the night. I wasn’t bothered about being one of the first to leave; I just wanted to add Mum’s cab money to my boot fund! Unfortunately, owing to the stupid one-way system, you can’t actually catch a bus to Tanfield directly outside the Pizza Palace but have to go trailing round the side roads, which at that time of night are more or less deserted. I am not at all a nervous kind of person. I really don’t mind being out on my own in the dark – not that I am ever allowed to be – but I must admit, it was a bit scary, waiting for the bus at an empty bus stop in this great concrete canyon, nothing but slab-sided office blocks rising up on either side, and gaping dark holes leading into the bowels of underground car parks. Plus this really spooky orange lighting, and not a single human being to be seen. I was just beginning to think that maybe I had better go back to the restaurant and ring Albert after all, when a little blue Ka pulled up and the driver wound down the window and called out to me. “Joanne? It is Joanne, isn’t it?” I’d been all prepared to turn and run. You’d better believe it! But when he called my name, I hesitated. “Joanne? It’s Paul – Dee’s brother. Can I give you a lift?” Well! I relaxed when he said he was Dee’s brother. I’d only met him once, a few weeks back, when mostly all we’d said was “Hi”; but obviously, being Dee’s brother, he had to be all right. So I said that I would love a lift, and I hopped into the car as quick as could be, feeling mightily pleased with myself. I’d be home well before nine, and could keep all of the cab money! Cosily, as we drove, I prattled on about my boot fund, and our end-of-term celebration, and how Dee had done all the organising and how rotten it was that she hadn’t been able to come. I asked Paul how she was, and he said that she was much better and was out of hospital, and then for a while we talked about Dee and her asthma, and how it stopped her doing some of the things she would really have liked to do, such as horse riding (because of being allergic to horses) and playing hockey (to which I went “Yuck!” as I am forced to play hockey and would far rather not), but I have to say it was quite hard work as I was the one that had to do most of the talking. Fortunately I am not at all shy, but on the other hand I am not a natural chatterer like Chloe, and after a bit I began to run out of things to talk about. Paul didn’t seem bothered, he just smiled and nodded. He did a lot of smiling, but practically no talking at all. I think it is so weird, when people don’t communicate. Even if I asked him a question, he mostly only grunted. Or smiled. Not very helpful. You do expect some kind of feedback when you’re making all that effort. If it hadn’t been for me we would have sat there in total silence. But it shouldn’t have been up to me! He was the adult. I couldn’t remember how old Dee had said he was, or even if she had said, but I knew he was her half brother and was loads older than we were. He must have been at least in his twenties. Mid-twenties, at that. I was only just a teenager, for goodness’ sake! Why should I have to carry the burden? It wasn’t fair, leaving it all to me. I looked out of the window in a kind of desperation, wondering where we were, and if we were nearly home, and discovered, to my horror, that we were nowhere near home. Spiders’ legs of fright went whispering down my spine. We were on totally the wrong road! Instead of taking the left fork out of town, through Crossley and Benbridge, he’d gone and swung off to the right, down Gravelpit Hill. I’d been too preoccupied racking my brain for things to say to notice. “Why—” my voice came out in a strangulated squawk. I had to swallow, and start again. “Why are we driving down G-Gravelpit Hill?” He turned, to look at me. “Didn’t Dee say you lived in Tanfield?” “Y-yes.” I swallowed again. “But th-this isn’t the way to get there!” “It does get there,” he said. “I promise you! I know where I’m going.” He had this very quiet, husky voice, without much expression. It was more frightening than if he’d shouted. “I realise it adds a bit to the journey, but—” It didn’t just add a bit, it took us miles out of our way. It took us through open countryside. Fields, and woods, and isolation. And, in the end, it took us to the gravel pits … “I always come by this route,” he said. “I prefer it to the other.” “But it’s such a w-waste of p-petrol!” I said. “Well – yes.” He smiled. “I suppose it is; I never thought of it like that. But it’s so much nicer than the main road. Don’t you think?” I couldn’t answer him; my mouth had gone dry. I suddenly sensed that I was in terrible danger. I had made the most stupid mistake … I should never have got into the car! And oh, it is true, it is absolutely true, what they say, that at moments like that your blood just seems to turn to water, the bottom of your stomach feels like it has dropped out, and you get cold and shaky and a kind of dread comes over you. The one thing I knew, I had to keep calm. I mustn’t panic! If he sussed that I was frightened, it would give him power over me. So long as I just kept my head, I might be able to find a way out. Doing my best to keep my voice from quavering, I told him that if I didn’t get back by nine, Mum would start to worry. “She’ll be going frantic!” In this soft voice, with just a touch of reproach, he said, “Joanne, I really don’t think you’d have got home by nine if you’d waited for the bus.” No, but at least I would have got home. “I promised her,” I said, “I gave her my word! She’ll be worried sick! I think I’d better ring her, and—” “Yes,” he said, “do that.” I scrabbled frantically in my bag, for my mobile. Where was it? Where was my mobile? It wasn’t there! My mobile wasn’t there! I must have left it in the restaurant. In my rush to get away, and catch a bus, and save a few measly pounds, I’d gone and left my mobile in the Pizza Palace. I’d put my entire life in jeopardy for a pair of stupid boots! Paul said, “What’s the matter?” “My phone,” I said. “I’ve left it behind. I’ve got to ring Mum, I’ll have to go back!” “There might be one in the glove compartment,” he said. He leaned across me to open it and, oh God, I thought my last hour had come! There was a screwdriver in there … one of those really long ones. I saw his hand close over it, and I immediately lunged sideways in my seat, which threw him off balance so that he jerked at the wheel and the car did this great kangaroo leap. I screamed, and he said, “Sorry! Sorry!” and pulled us back again. “Phew! That was a close shave. Sorry about that. You OK?” He glanced at me as he shut the glove compartment. “It doesn’t look as if I’ve got my phone with me, I’m afraid. But don’t worry!” He smiled. “We’ll be back in no time. At least coming this way the roads are clear.” I didn’t want them to be clear! I wanted them full of traffic, and hold-ups.Ihad to get out of that car. “You must admit,” he said, “it’s one of the advantages. And just look at the countryside!” He gestured out of the window, at the dark shapes of pine trees, and the woods looming behind. “I love it out here. You can drive for hours without seeing anyone. It’s hard to believe the town’s just a couple of miles away.” I knew why he was starting to talk: it was to make me think that everything was normal. But everything wasn’t normal! In a small, tight voice, I said, “I really do need to ring my mum. If I don’t ring her she’ll wonder where I am. She’ll get really worried if she doesn’t hear from me. She’ll do something stupid, like call the police. I really do think I ought to go back and get my phone!” “And I really think,” he said, firmly, “that it would be better to get you home first and set your mum’s mind at rest. We’ll be there in a few minutes.” “But I want my phone!” I could hear my voice coming out in this panic-stricken wail. “I need it!” “You can always call the restaurant when you get in. I’m sure they’ll keep it for you. I’ll even drive back into town and pick it up for you, if you like. But let’s just get you home first. We don’t want your mum being worried.” “Please!” I said. I was begging him, now. “I need to go back! I want my phone!” “Joanne,” he said, “mobile phones are not that important. Your mum’s peace of mind is at stake here. But OK. OK! If that’s what you want, I’ll take you back.” I wanted to believe him. I did so want to believe him! But I knew he was only saying it to keep me quiet. If he had really been going to take me back, he would have slowed the car and turned round. Instead, he continued straight on, barrelling down the hill towards the gravel pits. It was the most terrifying moment of my whole life. You just can’t believe, until you find yourself in it, that you could ever get yourself in such a situation. This was something that happened to other people! It couldn’t be happening to me! The thing that saved me was the traffic lights. The lights at the intersection with the main Benbridge Road. They were on red, and he was forced to stop. I was out of that car so fast I almost fell over. Coming towards us, up the hill, heading back into town, was a bus. I regained my balance and hared across the road towards it. I got to the stop just in time … another second and I would have been too late. Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/jean-ure/is-anybody-there-seeing-is-believing/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.