Mum and I don’t speak on the way home. Mum sends me to my room as soon as we arrive, which suits me fine. My phone and laptop are still locked away somewhere, but Mum has let me use an ancient mobile of hers. It’s supposed to be just for emergencies. And, frankly, it’s not good for much else.
I send Amelia a couple of texts, but they bounce back, undelivered.
Angry and upset in equal measure, I pace around a bit, then lie on my bed with the first Hunger Games book. I’ve read it before, many times. It’s an attempt at a comfort read, something to take my mind off what’s happening. It doesn’t work. Thoughts of the bird and Amelia’s accusing face and Mum in tears keep flashing through my head.
About an hour into my read I sneak downstairs and check out social media by logging in on Mum’s tablet.
There’s plenty of chat about my latest alleged crime, most of which is wildly inaccurate and suggests I killed the bird myself, in front of Amelia.
Shaking my head I turn to my private messages on NatterSnap. There’s only one. It’s from Rose.
Poor you. So sorry for you. If you want to talk, call me.
Her mobile number is underneath. I stare at the words, rereading them, bewildered. It sounds as if Rose knows all about the dead bird – well of course, Minnie and Molly were there and will have filled her in. I can just imagine their breathless tones and wide eyes as they described the scene in the locker room.
What really matters is that she seems to think I’m innocent. At least I think that’s what her message means. My fingers tremble as I put her number into my mobile and then log off NatterSnap, closing the app so that Mum won’t know what I’ve been up to.
I sneak back up the stairs and call Rose.
She picks up after just one ring. ‘Hello?’
‘Rose?’ I say, my voice swelling with emotion. ‘It’s Carey.’
‘Oh, Carey. I’m so glad you saw my message. You poor thing.’ She sounds so sympathetic I almost start crying.
‘I didn’t do it. I didn’t put that stupid bird in Amelia’s locker.’
‘Of course you didn’t,’ Rose says warmly. ‘I know you wouldn’t do anything like that.’
I hesitate. ‘I didn’t send the death threat or the other messages from SweetFreak either.’ I hold my breath, desperate for Rose to believe me.
‘I know,’ Rose says. ‘I know I’ve given you a hard time, but when I saw you in rehearsal the other day . . . well, it was obvious how unhappy you were. There was no way you’d done what everyone thinks. And definitely no way you’d make things worse for yourself by putting something horrible in Amelia’s locker.’
Relief floods through me. It’s so good to have someone else on my side.
Even if it is Rose.
‘That’s right, I didn’t, I didn’t. And the worst thing is Amelia hates me and she’s so unhappy, I can’t bear it.’ A sob rises in my chest, my voice cracking. ‘I have to make her see I’m innocent. Make everyone see it.’
There’s a pause on the other end of the line.
‘Rose?’
‘Do you have any idea who might be behind SweetFreak?’ she asks.
I hesitate. It feels risky to tell her about my suspicions. But what do I have to lose? Right now things can’t get worse, and Rose seems to be genuinely on my side now.
‘I think it might be . . . Amelia’s brother, George,’ I stammer. ‘He hates us both.’
‘You really think he’d go that far?’ There’s a shocked edge to Rose’s voice. ‘Do you really think he’d do that to his own sister?’
I hurry on, determined to convince her.
‘I know it’s a terrible thing to accuse someone of and obviously I don’t know for sure, but George has a reason to be angry with me and Amelia . . .’ I don’t want to start trashing Poppy by explaining about her cheating on George, so I trail off. ‘It’s complicated, but there are reasons why he might want to hurt us and break up our friendship.’
‘Wow!’ Rose gasps. ‘What a nightmare!’
‘I know.’
Another pause.
‘So what can I do to help, Carey?’ Rose asks.
Is she serious? ‘You mean help me find proof against George?’
‘Sure,’ Rose says. ‘We could meet up tomorrow? Make a plan?’
‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘That means a lot.’
‘It’s your birthday this weekend, isn’t it?’ Rose goes on.
‘Yeah, it’s tomorrow actually.’ I frown. ‘How did you—?’
‘I remember from last year, it was the first good party of the term.’ She laughs. ‘We went for pizza, didn’t we?’
‘That’s right,’
‘So what are you doing this year?’ Rose asks.
I shrug. ‘I wasn’t going to do anything, actually. I mean before the whole SweetFreak thing blew up I was going to go to Nando’s but—’
‘Well let’s meet there then,’ Rose interrupts, her voice full of decision. ‘Tomorrow night at seven, OK?’
‘Yes,’ I say, ‘I’d love that. Oh, thank you, Rose, thank you.’ As I put down the phone, a smile creeps across my face.
Maybe with Rose’s help I can finally expose George, prove my innocence and win back Amelia’s friendship.
The police turn up exactly when they say they will – on the dot of three p.m.. The same two officers as before.
I hurry downstairs, buoyed up by my conversation with Rose and eager to explain that Poppy’s NatterSnap post means that loads of people knew the dead bird was in our bin. I explain my suspicions about George, but DC Kapoor dismisses my theory instantly.
‘George Wilson was on an overnight Geography field trip to the South Downs yesterday, there’s no way he could have been rummaging through your bin in the small hours.’
‘Oh.’ I frown. Fresh thoughts fire in my brain. ‘Then maybe he got someone else to do it. In fact that would make sense, he’d want someone else to do it, in case he was recognised. He probably asked a friend.’
DS Carter gives a weary shake of his head. He glances at Mum and raises his eyebrows. ‘As you know, Mrs Logan,’ he says solemnly, ‘last time we spoke we emphasised that we support local schools’ zero tolerance approach on bullying with our early intervention initiative. We didn’t feel then there was enough evidence against Carey to start a prosecution.’ He pauses. ‘After what happened this morning we’re now far more worried that Carey does represent a credible threat to Amelia.’
‘I’m not a threat. No way,’ I say, incensed.
‘In the light of Carey’s persistent refusal to admit to her actions, we support her headteacher’s decision to impose a one-week exclusion from school and we also recommend that you increase the subsidised counselling sessions Carey has been having to twice a week.’
‘Oh.’ Mum looks as if he’s slapped her.
‘We’ve contacted CAMHS, that’s Child Mental Health Services,’ DS Carter goes on. ‘They’re here to support you both and hopefully help Carey take responsibility for—.’
‘I’m right here,’ I say loudly. ‘And I didn’t do this.’
Mum nods. ‘I’ll do everything you suggest.’ She looks at me and draws herself up. ‘Carey is already grounded all the way through the rest of term right up until the new year and has no access to a smartphone or her old laptop. Basically she’s not allowed to do anything or go anywhere outside the house without my express permission.’
‘But I haven’t done anything.’ Frustration wells inside me. This is so unfair. So unjust.
Mum and the two officers exchange weary, irritated glances.
‘If you would just stop lying, Carey,’ DC Kapoor says tartly.
‘I’m not lying.’ My voice rises. ‘I’m not a liar.’
Mum gazes at me, an expression of unbearable sorrow on her face. ‘I’m afraid that’s not true, is it?’ she says softly. ‘There was that party a few months ago that you lied about – and that wasn’t an isolated incident, then you’ve repeatedly gone creeping out of your room at night, even after you promised you wouldn’t.’
She’s right of course. As was Poppy when she said Mum might find it easier to believe me if I hadn’t lied before.
But those things were completely different. Why can’t she see that? I sit back, feeling hurt and humiliated in front of the police They try, all three of them, to get me to talk some more but I’m done talking. I’m done protesting my innocence.
There’s no point any more. They’ve all decided I’m guilty.
I might as well be.
The rest of Friday passes slowly. I get a couple of sweet texts from Rose to say she’s thinking of me and looking forward to meeting up tomorrow. The relief these messages give me is pathetically huge. A month ago I wouldn’t have cared what Rose thought of me. It even crosses my mind to attempt to wrestle my curls into an approximation of her trademark long bob, but that really is a step too far, both for me and my unruly hair.
Poppy charges up the stairs to find me as soon as she gets home. She is shocked that the police refused to credit the suggestion that George might have read about me putting the pigeon in the bin and asked a friend to steal it for him.
‘They’re convinced I’m guilty,’ I say glumly. ‘Nothing I say ever changes their minds.’
Poppy sighs. ‘It’s like that scientific thing where if you go into your research expecting a particular outcome, then that’s the outcome you tend to get.’ She sighs. ‘Though it’s still hard to imagine George being so mean, especially after all this time. You’d think he’d have moved on.’ She paces up and down my room, lost in thought. She’s grown taller in the past year and her face is longer, a perfect oval. She’s always been pretty but now it’s in a grown-up way, like she’s comfortable in her own skin, at one with all aspects of her appearance, from her long slim legs to her almond-shaped eyes and her carefully messy blonde hair.
The way we’ve grown close since she accepted I wasn’t SweetFreak isn’t anything like the way Amelia and I were friends. That was based on sharp bursts of emotions where one minute we’d be in hysterical laughter over something and the next Amelia would be crying her eyes out looking to me for support and comfort. My friendship with my sister is far steadier, involving fewer displays of strong feeling, but for all that it’s solid, based more on grit than glitz.
And apart from the first couple of days Poppy’s faith in me hasn’t wavered. I still don’t really understand why she’s so convinced of my innocence, when everyone else thinks I’m guilty. For a split second I wonder again if maybe she’s responsible herself and simply sticking up for me out of guilt. Then I push the thought away. This is the worst thing about being blamed for something I didn’t do: no one trusts me and I trust no one.
‘I’m excluded from school for the whole of next week,’ I say and the words land flat in the room, as bleak as my mood.
‘That sucks,’ Poppy says.
She’s right, it does.
But at least she’s on my side. And tomorrow – my birthday – I’ll meet with Rose and we can begin to plan a proper fight back against all the lies.