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  Whoever had written his profile (although I suppose he could have written it himself) thought very highly of him:

  Mr David Mullins has been the headteacher at Mountview High for the past two years and has helped to cement the school’s reputation for academic and sporting excellence. Before taking up this position, he enjoyed an illustrious career as a teacher and as a deputy head at schools in Milton Keynes and throughout Buckinghamshire. Prior to becoming a teacher, he studied chemistry at Manchester University and he retains a keen interest in the subject. In 2008, he initiated the school’s ‘Young Chemist’ award for children who have shown an aptitude for science. He lives in Luton with his wife and young child . . .

  I gasped. His what? His wife and young child? Did Jack even know his dad had married again? Was he aware he had a half brother or sister he’d never met? Did he know that his dad lived in Luton? And if he didn’t know all this, should I tell him? I toyed with this possibility for a few minutes. If I did, Jack would find out I’d been secretly investigating his dad, but there’s no law against Googling someone. I’d be doing him a favour, wouldn’t I? It could help him to come to terms with everything. Surely, if his dad had a whole new life, he wouldn’t stalk Jack’s family any more. Maybe he’d changed for the better.

  But what if he hadn’t? What if he hit his new wife too? My heart began to pound. Did anybody know what he was really like? Shouldn’t someone report him? I imagined a classroom of Year Sevens chanting in unison, ‘Good morning, Mr Mullins’, unaware that after breakfast that morning he’d punched his wife in the stomach, and it made me shiver.

  There was an email address on the profile, for people who wanted to contact the school, and I mulled over the idea of writing an anonymous email to Mr Mullins, telling him I knew his secret and that he was being watched. But then I figured, if he’s so darn good at science he’s probably good on the internet too, and he would find a way of tracing me, and that might put Jack and his mum in danger. So I thought better of it.

  That night, for the first time in years, I dreamed that the Bogeyman was hiding under my bed. He was hairy and green, with a slightly lopsided grin.

  Chapter 15

  Topfriendz

  Inbox: 2 messages

  Message One

  From: Igor

  Subject: Hello

  Hello lovely ladee,

  You no likey make talk? Write me please soon. I mees you much.

  Love and kisez

  Igor x

  Message Two

  From: Alex

  Subject: Parteeee!!!

  Hi Laura,

  Hope you can still come to my birthday party next weekend. I’ve got this awesome new top – can’t wait for you to see it! And I meant to say, you are bringing Jared, aren’t you – obviously he’s invited too and I’m dying to meet him. Give me a call so we can sort all the arrangements.

  Love Alex xxx

  Alex’s party: I’d put it to the back of my mind for as long as I could, but now it was only days away and I could no longer avoid thinking about it. I was sure Alex’s top was lovely, but I had far bigger worries than what to wear. The prospect of taking Laura out in public again was bad enough; worse was the matter of how I’d deal with the Jared situation (or rather, my lack of a Jared situation). In my opinion, Jared’s non-existence made him the very worst kind of party pooper. Why had Alex decided to invite him too? Why did she always have to do the right thing, the polite thing? Still, I could see that not extending the invite to my ‘boyfriend’ would have been a bit weird, especially when she asked about him all the time, and when I seemed so devoted to him. I’d even told her I saw Jared every weekend, so she probably thought I’d expected he could come.

  If only she’d suggested that he was invited when she’d first mentioned the party, I could have said he had something important planned, like a holiday. Now, it was too late, I’d have to think of another excuse. It would be unconvincing to invent a last-minute bargain so tempting that his parents would think, what the hell, and take him out of college in the middle of term.

  In soaps, when they want to get rid of a character quickly, unseen, they generally either kill them off in a tragic, off-stage accident or they make the doomed character win the lottery and decide to leave the country. Neither of those options would work for me. If Jared ‘died’ I’d hardly be in the mood for partying, while, if he won the lottery, all he’d want to do was party. In fact, he’d be up for the biggest celebration of his life, with me, Alex and the world. That’s if he actually existed, obviously.

  One thing was clear: Jared wouldn’t be coming with me to the party. Not unless I could persuade Katie to dress in drag and talk in a deep voice all evening, which I doubted. She’d make a rubbish bloke: she was too pretty and her boobs were too big. More to the point, she couldn’t come with me; I needed her to be my alibi. She’d agreed, reluctantly, to let me tell my parents and Jack that I was staying at hers for the night. How else could I get away with it?

  I felt like kicking myself (which I’ve always thought was a stupid expression. I’ve never seen anybody do it, literally. Wouldn’t they just fall over?). Why couldn’t I have told Alex I was single? Jared was a liability, I’d been thinking that for weeks. My lies about him were stacking up precariously; sometimes I couldn’t remember what I’d told Alex, and I’m sure I contradicted myself frequently. I also didn’t like having to keep lying to her about his exploits, his gigs and his injuries. I know that sounds ridiculous and hypocritical because my entire relationship with Alex was built on a huge lie, but most of what I told her day-to-day was the truth. The truth, with names changed and a few vital omissions.

  I thought about ringing Katie to ask her advice, but decided against it. Ever since the night when I’d chosen not to break off contact with Alex, I’d felt awkward talking to Katie about her. Maybe I was being oversensitive, but I got the impression she was judging me and that she’d say any subsequent problem or issue I had was of my own making. I was aware that I’d stopped telling her every last detail of Alex’s emails and calls. Partly, it was because I didn’t think they’d interest her, but it was also because I didn’t like Katie’s negativity, the way she always seemed to want to put Alex down. Most of what Alex and I chatted about would have bored her senseless. Why did it matter to Katie if Alex had bought a new CD, or that she’d decided to go to a music festival in the summer? And why would Katie have been interested in the fact that Alex was really starting to like a guy called Ben in her economics class? So, whenever she asked if I’d heard from Alex, I’d say, yes, she messaged me, or she emailed me, and we’d leave it at that.

  Still, I wasn’t used to making big decisions without Katie’s help. What could I do about Jared? How could I make him go away? Perhaps I could tell Alex I’d dumped him. It seemed highly unlikely that in twenty-four hours I could go from being super loved-up to over him, for no reason. Could he have dumped me? That was a better option: it was feasible I might not have seen it coming and I’d be entitled to be so upset that I didn’t want to talk about it in too much depth. Lying about being dumped seemed to work for Jack, I thought, bitterly, so why not for me too?

  Hi Alex, I typed. I know she’d asked me to call but, despite all the practice I’d had, making up tall tales was still much easier – and somehow felt less wrong – on screen.

  I’m really looking forward to coming to your party but I won’t be bringing Jared. I’m crying while I write this because the skank dumped me last night. I was going to tell you but I really haven’t felt like talking about it. He said he didn’t think things were working out and we were getting too serious. I don’t think he’s going to change his mind – there’s this other girl . . . I don’t want to think about it. I miss him so much.

  I promise I’ll call you when I feel a bit better.

  Love Laura xx

  Didn’t that sound authentic? Especially the ‘crying while I write this’ bit. Technically, I reasoned, this wasn’t a lie at all. You can’
t lie about something that was untrue in the first place, can you? Jared had never been my boyfriend, so it wasn’t physically possible to be dumped by him. Isn’t there a rule about two negatives making a positive? Maybe if you tell two lies they cancel each other out. Maybe telling two lies creates a truth . . . I’m not entirely sure where I was going with this train of thought, but it made me feel better about things.

  Alex’s reply, which arrived almost instantly, was as sweet as I anticipated:

  Hi Laura,

  Really sorry to hear about Jared. I know how much you liked him. Whenever you want to talk about it, let me know. I’ll understand if you don’t want to come to my party anymore, but if you do, and I really hope you will, I promise all my friends will cheer you up and you’ll have an ace time.

  Love Alex xxxxx

  There was no way I was missing the party, not when I’d done so much planning to be there. I know that only a week before I’d have done practically anything to get out of going, but now I was almost looking forward to it. My curiosity was pulling me there, like a magnet. I’d just have to show Alex how strong and how brave I could be. Goodness, I was practically over Jared already.

  Hi Alex,

  Thanks for being so understanding.

  I’ll be OK. I keep telling myself he was only a guy – I’m not going to let him get me down. He was way too skinny anyway. And I’m definitely still coming to your party. I’m really looking forward to it. I promise I won’t sit in the corner looking miserable.

  I’ve just had a double chocolate muffin and I’m feeling better already. I’ll call you about arrangements.

  Love Laura xxx

  P.S. Jared who?

  So there it was: Jared was no more.

  In the moment after I’d pressed send, it struck me that I was really going to miss having a boyfriend who played in a band, even if it was an imaginary one.

  Chapter 16

  Have you ever climbed on a bicycle and set off happily down the road, only to find that the brakes don’t work, and you’re at the top of a hill? As you career down, faster and faster, you grip on to the handlebars for dear life, waiting for a soft patch of grass or sand pit to present itself so you can leap to safety. But you hesitate because you know jumping off will really hurt and you’re going so fast that everything is a blur, and so you keep holding on hoping that, maybe, when you reach the bottom of the hill, you’ll come to a natural stop and everything will be all right.

  And then you crash.

  Alex’s house is right on the other side of London, where there isn’t even a tube. She lives in a place that shouldn’t really be called London at all; the city has sprawled out towards it and it clings on by its fingernails. To reach it, I had to get a bus, a proper train and then another bus, and door-to-door it took me almost two hours. I’d never travelled so far or for so long on my own before and I felt quite proud that I made all my connections and didn’t have to ask anyone for directions. Of course, I’d never be able to tell anyone about my journey; only Katie knew where I was that day. It would serve me right, I thought, if there was an accident or if a terrorist blew up the train, and nobody worried about me. I didn’t even have any ID on me, so if Alex reported me missing first, the police would look for someone called Laura Thompson. There wouldn’t be any records and Alex would have to identify me. What if my parents never found out the truth? I might be buried as Laura Thompson and there’d be no one to visit my grave . . .

  ‘You’re taking a lot of stuff to stay at Katie’s,’ Mum had commented, before I left. ‘Doesn’t she already have a sleeping bag?’

  ‘It’s in the wash,’ I’d said, without pause for breath. I’d predicted this line of questioning. ‘It got mud on it from camping. And I’m taking a load of clothes for Katie and some of our other friends to try on – she’s having a clothes swapping party.’

  The truth was that I had packed half my wardrobe because I couldn’t decide what Laura should wear to Alex’s party. Tracky bums wouldn’t do this time, that was certain, but beyond that, I was clueless. Laura needed an image overhaul. Maybe I’d ask Alex for a makeover before the party. That was a good idea: I could see what her party clothes were like and then borrow one of her dresses, and beg her to do my hair and make-up, just like hers. Not that she seemed like the type of girl to worry about her hair and make-up – she might be hopeless at it. Still, I’d ask her anyway. If nothing else, she’d be flattered. My final appearance mattered far less than retaining some element of disguise. If I looked and felt too much like myself, I might slip back into being Lily.

  There was one element of Laura’s persona that I had prepared for in advance: her short-sightedness. If she knew she would be staying over at Alex’s, Laura would have brought her glasses. I really couldn’t ‘forget’ them again. On my way to the station, I’d stopped off at a trendy shop on the high street where I knew they sold fashion glasses (the type that are clear glass and meant purely for posing), and bought the cheapest pair I could find. They were purple, too large and totally the wrong shape for my face, giving me the look of Elton John in the seventies. He was doing a lot of drugs at the time, so at least he had an excuse.

  ‘They look cool,’ said the shop assistant in a ‘can’t be bothered’ manner, when I asked for his opinion. He had looked me up and down and dismissed me the moment I walked through the door. ‘The colour matches your eyes.’

  For the record, I don’t have purple eyes. I’d call them brown, with a few hazel flecks. You could even get away with caramel, if you were trying to be descriptive. Maybe he was colour blind, as well as pretentious.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, brightly. ‘I’ll take them.’ I made a mental note never to return to that shop. I don’t like people who lie through their teeth.

  Yes, alright, I know.

  Alex’s house was only about a hundred metres from the bus stop, which was a relief, given the amount I was carrying. I stood outside for few minutes, breathing deeply and trying to compose myself. Laura is just a name, I told myself. You’ve pulled it off once, you can do it again. A man on the other side of the street stared at me, suspiciously. I waved at him and he turned away, pretending he hadn’t noticed.

  Alex had invited me to come early, so I could settle in and feel at home before the party, and not feel overwhelmed by her friends. ‘It’s easier to meet new people one at a time, rather than walking into a room full of strangers,’ she’d said, thoughtfully. ‘Plus,’ she’d added, ‘it would be useful to have another pair of hands to help set up.’ It had seemed like a good idea when she suggested it, but now I realised it meant more time being Laura, and under the scrutiny of her parents too, and I felt anxious. I wondered if I should put the glasses on right away, but I didn’t want to frighten anyone. Instead, I pulled my hair back into Laura’s customary ponytail, took a deep breath, stood up straight (sporty Laura had much better posture than me, I’d decided) and rang the doorbell.

  Alex’s Dad opened the front door. ‘Hello Laura, it’s good to see you,’ he said. He glanced at my bags, before picking one of them up. ‘My goodness, you have brought a lot with you. Are you planning to move in with us?’

  I reddened. ‘No, Mr Porter, and thank you very much for having me. I just wasn’t sure what to bring.’

  ‘It’s OK, Laura, I was only teasing. I’ll take your bags up to Alex’s room. Why don’t you go into the kitchen – Alex is in there with her mother.’ He pointed to his left, and called out, ‘Alex, your guest is here!’

  She came out of the kitchen, smiling. There was something different about her, something I couldn’t quite figure out.

  ‘Hi Laura,’ she said. ‘I’m so glad you made it. How are you feeling? Come in and have a drink. We’re just sorting out some food for tonight.’ She gave me a hug and took me by the arm, leading me into the room behind her.

  ‘I know – it’s your hair!’ I exclaimed (after I said hello, of course). ‘You’ve had your hair cut! It really suits you.’ She’d had her hair styled into
a long bob, which gave it more body and made it seem glossier. She looked lovely, older and more groomed, and our two-year age difference all at once felt more stark to me. I’d never been to an eighteenth birthday party before; only a few of my friends had turned sixteen. People always said I appeared and acted grown-up for my age; would anyone guess I was still only fifteen (and three-quarters)?

  ‘Thanks,’ Alex said, stroking the ends of her hair, in the way that people do when they’re not used to a new style. ‘I fancied a change. Mum, meet Laura.’

  Alex’s mum came over. She was much shorter and rounder than Alex, with a kind face.

  ‘Hello Laura,’ she said, in a soft Scottish accent. ‘I’ve heard so much about you.’ She held up her hands, which were covered in flour and butter, and laughed. ‘Do you mind if we don’t shake just now?’

  We spent the next two hours baking and icing cupcakes, something I hadn’t done since I was a kid. I’d forgotten how much fun it could be, especially the decorating part. My cupcakes were works of art, with marbled technicolour icing and jelly tots and silver balls arranged so prettily that they’d have made Nigella proud. The only problem was, they looked so good I decided I didn’t want anybody to eat them. I said someone should set up a cupcake gallery so I could put them on display.

  Alex’s mum laughed at me. ‘I didn’t buy all those ingredients just so they could go mouldy in a museum somewhere. Trust me, they’ll taste even better than they look.’