SweetFreak Page 3

  ‘I wouldn’t do this to anyone,’ I say. My voice sounds flat, as if it’s coming from across the room. I can’t seem to focus.

  ‘I know, sweetheart.’ Mum puts her arm around my shoulder. I let her draw me into a hug. I can’t remember the last time I wanted her arms around me, but right now I lean on her. At least she believes me.

  I glance over at Poppy. Her face is a blank.

  DC Kapoor purses her lip. She is definitely still suspicious. The thought that I’m in trouble with the police gnaws at me. I’ve known kids at school who’ve had run-ins with the cops for shoplifting and anti-social behaviour, but not me. Never me. This isn’t who I am.

  ‘This is a mistake.’ I draw back from Mum. ‘What’s going to happen? Because I didn’t do what you’re saying.’

  ‘We’d like to question you about this morning.’ DS Carter flips open his notebook. ‘Nothing formal, just a chat here with your mum over a cuppa.’

  ‘Of course.’ Mum gulps. ‘Poppy, will you make us all a cup of tea?’

  My sister looks, for a second, as if she’s about to refuse indignantly, then she seems to think better of it. Nodding, she leaves the room.

  I bite my lip. Perhaps a quick talk will resolve everything. Surely once I prove I was nowhere near my laptop when the death threat was sent this morning I’ll be in the clear.

  ‘So we have traced this morning’s private message from SweetFreak to your laptop,’ DC Kapoor says briskly. ‘How do you explain that?’

  ‘I can’t,’ I say. ‘It . . . it doesn’t make any sense. I only use my laptop for homework and . . .’ I trail off, realising that telling the police I sometimes stream movies and TV shows illegally on the computer might not be my smartest move. ‘I do almost everything else from my phone,’ I trail off.

  ‘Yes, we’d like to take your mobile as well as your laptop.’

  ‘What?’ It’s another slap. ‘Take them away?’

  ‘To examine them.’ She holds out her hand. ‘May I see your phone please?’

  I look at Mum. Can the police really do that?

  ‘This is a potentially serious charge,’ DC Kapoor says in a steely voice. The inference is clear: you’re lucky we’re not arresting you.

  Feeling numb I pass the officer my mobile. She examines the call and text log. I know she won’t see anything there. I’ve been deleting everything out of habit, since Mum caught me lying about a party a few months ago and has used the incident to justify random checks on my phone messages ever since. The officer then opens my NatterSnap app. I cringe as she pores over my feed, thinking of all the stupid stuff that’s on there.

  Last night’s exchange with Amelia is deleted of course, but I can still remember her miserable insistence that we meet up. I rly need c u she’d messaged.

  Suddenly all I want to do is talk to my best friend. She must be devastated, especially if she knows the police suspect I might have had anything to do with the SweetFreak messages. I’m sure she won’t believe I’m capable of sending her anything so horrible, but I want to tell her myself as soon as possible.

  ‘Um, could I please have my phone back?’ I ask DC Kapoor. ‘I just need it for a minute.’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ she says curtly.

  I sit back, shocked at her vehemence.

  ‘It’s not a good idea for you to contact Amelia right now,’ DS Carter says more gently, clearly reading my thoughts.

  What? No way. ‘I have to speak to her, explain this is all a terrible misunderstanding. But—’

  ‘We would really like to understand what prompted such strong feelings,’ DS Carter interrupts. ‘Did Amelia do something to upset you?’

  ‘No.’ I stare at him. ‘I didn’t send any messages. I’m not SweetFreak. Why won’t you believe me?’

  Mum squeezes my hand. ‘The detectives are just doing their job, Carey.’ She turns to DS Carter. ‘I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding. You say Amelia received the death threat this morning, at school, but Carey never takes her laptop to school, they don’t allow it. Or mobile phones in class.’

  There’s a derisive sniff from the doorway. Poppy has reappeared, a tray of mugs in her hands. ‘Oh, Carey’s good at doing things behind people’s backs.’

  ‘We were just coming to this morning,’ DC Kapoor says. There’s a hint of irritation in her voice. She clearly knows as well as I do that it’s perfectly possible to sit with a device on silent under your desk. Some teachers would spot it; others not. Mum sits back.

  DS Carter turns to me. ‘I’d like to know what time you left the house this morning, Carey?’

  ‘It would have been about eight fifteen, wouldn’t it, love?’ Mum asks. ‘You took Jamie to school.’

  ‘Please let Carey answer for herself,’ DS Carter insists.

  ‘Like Mum says, about eight fifteen,’ I say pointedly. ‘Which proves it couldn’t have been me because I think Amelia got the message when she arrived at school, which wouldn’t have been until around eight thirty.’

  ‘She received the message at . . . at eight twenty-seven a.m.,’ DS Carter says, consulting his notes again.

  ‘Which was when I was dropping Jamie at his school,’ I exclaim, relieved. They’ll have to believe me now. ‘Nowhere near my laptop.’

  ‘Can you confirm exactly when your daughter left the house?’ DC Kapoor asks Mum.

  , She shakes her head. ‘Poppy?’ Everyone looks at my sister.

  ‘I was asleep, I wasn’t well, remember?’ Poppy sounds mildly injured, as if no one is bothered about her being ill.

  ‘We can ask Jamie,’ I point out. ‘He’s only seven but he tells the time really well and—’

  ‘That’s OK.’ DS Carter sighs. ‘We’ll take a look at your laptop, then if need be, we can have another chat afterwards.’ He puts down his notebook and nods at his colleague. ‘Perhaps you’d take DC Kapoor here to Carey’s room now?’ he asks Mum.

  Mum looks dazed, but leads the female officer out of the room. The two women murmur to each other as they cross the hall. I can’t hear what they’re saying but as they reach the stairs I hear the words ‘charging’ and ‘warning’.

  ‘What will happen next?’ I ask DS Carter. He has a much nicer face than DC Kapoor, with deep-set dark eyes under the worry lines that crease his forehead.

  He folds his arms. ‘That depends,’ he says.

  I sit back. How can this be happening? I try to focus. Once they examine the laptop they’ll surely see this is all a mistake. I had nothing to do with the death threat. It’s insane to think I could.

  Poppy sets down the tray. She says nothing, but emotion is radiating off her in waves. Is she upset for me? Does she believe I could have sent Amelia those messages? Surely she can’t?

  And then she meets my gaze and I’m shocked by the look of pure hatred on her face.

  Which is when it strikes me: Poppy was at home when the SweetFreak death threat was sent. It would have been the simplest thing in the world for her to slip next door into my room while I was out and use my computer. She could have easily sneaked a look at my password. I’m careful with it when I’m out of the house, but not at home.

  Could my sister have done such a thing?

  I know she blames me for George finding out about her holiday romance but would she really go that far to get back at me?

  I look at her again and the venom in her expression answers the question for me. Poppy hates me and Amelia for ending her relationship with George.

  The death threat is her revenge. I’m sure of it.

  4

  I say nothing to or about Poppy while the police are here.

  Mum and DC Kapoor come back from my room with my laptop encased in a clear plastic bag. DS Carter explains that they’ll need all our fingerprints ‘in order to eliminate anyone who hasn’t used the computer from the enquiry’. He raises his eyebrows at Mum, like he’s saying please agree, so I don’t have to march you all down the station to do this.

  Mum nods, looking shell-sho
cked. Poppy mutters something about police harassment, but acquiesces without a fuss.

  I’m last to be fingerprinted, after which Mum signs for my computer and phone and the two officers leave.

  As soon as they’ve walked out I turn on Poppy.

  ‘You did this, didn’t you?’ I demand.

  Poppy stares at me, her pale blue eyes wide with shock.

  ‘Me?’ she says, with withering scorn.

  ‘That’s enough, Carey!’ Mum says, her voice so loud and harsh it actually makes me jump. I can’t remember the last time she raised her voice to me. She’s usually laughing, Mum. Easy-going. That is, she worries a lot, and if she thinks we’ve taken risks over our safety she comes down hard, but basically she’s pretty trusting. Poppy says she was stricter before Dad left five years ago, but maybe that’s just coincidence.

  ‘I didn’t send Amelia that horrible message,’ I protest.

  Mum hesitates. ‘I believe you,’ she says.

  Poppy makes a harrumphing noise.

  ‘I think they’ve probably made a mistake about the laptop,’ Mum goes on, ignoring her. ‘And I understand that you’re upset. But that’s no reason to take it out on your sister.’

  ‘Suppose it was my laptop?’ I look at Mum and Poppy. The two of them are pretty alike. Jamie too. All of them have blue eyes and fine, fair hair. I’m the odd one out in my family with my darker skin and curls. Like Dad’s. ‘Poppy could have snuck into my room and sent the messages. She was here, in the house, when—’

  ‘You are unbelievable.’ Poppy storms over. She’s taller than me by a good few centimetres and it takes all my self-control not to shrink away from her.

  Don’t get me wrong, for the past five years since Dad left home we’ve been close – well, until the last couple of weeks. But I have deeply-rooted memories of when we were little kids, of her pinching and pushing me behind Mum’s back.

  ‘How dare you accuse me?’ Poppy roars. ‘You’re the one who doesn’t care who she hurts or whose relationship she breaks up. You’re the evil, selfish—’

  ‘Girls, stop it,’ Mum snaps.

  Poppy folds her arms. Her face is red with fury. ‘See how you’re upsetting Mum?’ she says.

  ‘I haven’t done anything—’ I catch my breath. This is surreal. A nightmare. I try to stop the tears that prick at my eyes. ‘I would never do anything to upset Mum. Or Amelia.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’ Poppy points her finger, poking at my chest. ‘You are such a hypocrite. Pretending to be Amelia’s friend when you’re really sending horrible messages to her. Pretending to be tucked up in bed when you’re really sneaking out of the—’

  ‘Girls, stop this,’ Mum cries, but I hardly notice.

  ‘I’m not the one pretending,’ I snarl. ‘You’re making out like you’re so perfect, but you didn’t have any problem going with another guy behind George’s back! And you used to sneak out of the house too.’

  ‘No I didn’t.’

  ‘You did,’ I shout, clenching my fists. ‘I saw you.’

  ‘Stop it!’ Mum shrieks. But I’m too far gone to hear.

  ‘I think you sent the messages to Amelia and made it look like I did them to get revenge,’ I shout. ‘You’d love to break up our friendship but I’m telling you you—’

  ‘I would never do that. Never.’ Bursting into tears, Poppy storms out of the room.

  ‘Carey!’ Mum says.

  I look her in the eyes. ‘I need to call Amelia.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, Carey. Didn’t you hear the police?’

  But I’m already out of the living room and scurrying into the kitchen where Mum’s phone is charging in its usual place to the left of the toaster. I know she has Amelia’s number stored, because I’m with her so often. I snatch the mobile up and race out of the house. I hurry around the corner, intent on hiding from view in case Mum decides to come after me. I duck behind the wall next to the three garages and scroll to Amelia’s number.

  My heart beats fast as the phone rings. I remind myself that there’s no way Amelia will believe I am really behind SweetFreak. I’ve been the one comforting her; I’m her best friend. The call goes to voicemail. I leave a garbled message, all incoherent emotion.

  ‘The stupid police have been here doing fingerprints and taking my laptop and my mobile which is why I’m using Mum’s. It’s all beyond crazy . . . obviously I didn’t do this, I know you know I wouldn’t but . . . this is so awful, I can’t imagine how upset you must be feeling . . . please call me . . . you’re my best friend . . .’

  I sit, my head bowed over the phone, waiting for some response. A few minutes pass. Nothing. I try again. Leave another message. Then send a text. Then another. Then a third phone call.

  It’s dark now and I’m cold. I rushed out of the house without a jacket and the wind is fierce across my face.

  For a few moments I contemplate going round to her house. I glance at Mum’s phone. I’ll get into terrible trouble if I don’t go home now. And I’ve already left Amelia a million messages. There could be lots of reasons why she hasn’t answered. Maybe the police are still studying her phone? Maybe she’s with her parents? Maybe she just wants to be on her own?

  Whatever, I know by now Amelia will have been told the death threat came from my laptop and, whichever way you look at it, that will come as a terrible shock. I should give her time to let the situation settle, time to reflect on the insanity of the idea that I could possibly hurt her. She’ll probably call back later this evening. If not, she’ll definitely be at school tomorrow. I just need to see her and reassure myself that she knows I am innocent.

  And I need to tell her that I’m pretty certain Poppy is guilty.

  I trudge home, Mum’s phone held in my palm where I will hear when it rings. I brace myself as I walk into the house. If Poppy starts having another go at me I swear I might totally lose it. But Poppy is nowhere to be seen. I walk into the kitchen to find Mum sitting in glum silence at the kitchen table, a cold cup of tea in front of her. At the sight of her misery a fresh wave of unhappiness washes over me.

  ‘Oh, Mum.’

  She looks up.

  ‘I didn’t do it.’ My voice cracks.

  ‘I know, my love.’ She opens her arms and I collapse into them, finally giving way to the tears that feel like they might drown me.

  5

  I barely sleep all night. I’m still sure Poppy is behind the death threat and the other SweetFreak messages and I alternate between bewilderment that she could be so cruel to poor Amelia, fury that she has set me up and fear that no one other than Mum will believe I’m innocent.

  My worst fear is that Amelia herself won’t believe it. Why hasn’t she replied to my call? Or responded to my texts? I told her the police had my mobile, but could she be calling it by mistake? And what has she said to everyone else? Has she told anyone else that the police traced the SweetFreak message to my laptop?

  No, surely she wouldn’t have said anything without talking to me first.

  Would she?

  In the end I fall into a fitful sleep, waking late and foggy-headed. Poppy has already left for school and Mum is rushing with Jamie. She says nothing about the accusations in front of my little brother, but while he is putting on his shoes, she whispers in my ear that she loves me and believes in me and that she’s sure we’ll get a call today from the police explaining it’s all been a terrible mistake.

  She knows that I haven’t spoken to Amelia yet and gently warns me not to pester her when I see her at school.

  ‘Remember this will have been a horrible experience for her,’ Mum says. ‘She won’t want to think you could have done this, but there’s bound to be doubt in her—’

  ‘Why?’ I flare up again. ‘I wouldn’t believe it of her.’

  ‘Sssh.’ Mum points through the door, to where Jamie is sitting on the bottom step of the stairs, his little tongue poking out as he carefully places the velcro strap across his left shoe. ‘Just don’t go blu
ndering in, pushing Amelia to make you feel better. Honestly, sweetheart, give her time to think it through. I’m sure she’ll realise you couldn’t possibly have done such a terrible thing once the initial shock has settled down.’

  I nod, but inside I’m unconvinced. Surely the sooner I can face Amelia the better? I need her to know I would never hurt her. I need to know she believes me.

  I hurry to school, preoccupied all the way. I can’t see Amelia in our form room which is still half empty when I arrive. I scuttle over to my normal seat, putting my bag on the chair next to me, where Amelia usually sits.

  I wait for her to arrive, looking up every time there’s movement by the door. But Amelia doesn’t come. Gradually the class fills up. A few girls smile at me or say hello, but the vast majority avoid meeting my eyes, then huddle in corners, having whispered conversations that I’m certain, from the occasional glances in my direction, are all about me.

  By the time Mrs Marchington strides in, the register tucked under her arm, it is obvious that at least three-quarters of the room know exactly what I’ve been accused of.

  What does that mean? That Amelia has told people? I frown, unwilling to believe it. Who else could be gossiping?

  Of course. The answer washes over me like ice-cold water: Poppy.

  Up until this point I’d imagined my sister’s aim was to upset Amelia and break up our friendship. But suppose Poppy wants me to suffer even more than that. She could be trying to spread rumours about me, hoping to turn the whole school against me.

  Before we head to our first lesson Rose and one of her stupid Clones (her hair styled into a careful copy of Rose’s long bob) wander over and stand in front of me. Rose speaks loudly, her mouth twisted into a superior sneer.

  ‘Poor Amelia is so upset she can’t get out of bed.’

  My head jerks up.

  The Rose Clone – a sullen-faced girl called Minnie – nods, an expression of exaggerated concern on her face.

  ‘It’s Not surprising,’ Rose goes on, giving me a sideways glance. ‘What an evil cow that SweetFreak is.’