‘Maybe we should try ringing her again before we do anything,’ Ram says as I gently guide Albie’s legs into the carrier.
I still can’t believe he’s here. In my hotel room. Standing just a metre or so away from me. I’ve spent the entire year trying to convince myself that New Year’s Eve was just a blip, a moment of madness masquerading as romance. To make doubly sure, I removed Ram’s number from my phone, unfollowed him on Instagram and steered clear of his usual haunts. Any time he wriggled his way into my thoughts, I shoved him back before he could take hold. On the rare occasions Frankie brought him up in conversation, I did my best to gloss over it, although the guilt often made my attempts to change the subject a little clumsy. Not that Frankie noticed. That was perhaps almost the worst part – her complete lack of suspicion.
To an extent, my approach worked. As the months went on, it 285got easier to separate myself from the events of New Year’s Eve. It helped that I had other things to focus on – school work, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, the Arts Academy audition. My focus shifted. The memory of New Year’s Eve became hazy. I dreamed of Ram sometimes and it’d leave me in a strange mood all day, wistful and sad, but I’d do my best not to dwell, to stop my mind from going back there, and by and large I succeeded.
It’s only now he’s standing in front of me I realize how pointless my efforts were. Nothing has changed.
After everything that’s happened, I still want him.
My stomach performs an involuntary somersault. I try to ignore it. I have to ignore it. Now is simply not the time for going down this road. I need to focus. I need to prioritize.
I need to talk to Frankie.
‘Why is she suddenly going to pick up now?’ I ask, trying not to meet Ram’s eye.
‘It’s at least worth a try. She’s had a bit of time to calm down.’
‘I don’t know …’
Frankie and I are best face to face. We always have been. I just need her in front of me. So I can explain, make her understand. Over the phone just isn’t going to cut it.
‘Maybe you should try from your phone,’ Ram suggests.
But just the thought of turning my phone on after all this time makes me want to be sick.
‘I can’t,’ I stammer.
‘How come?’ he asks.
‘No battery.’
‘OK, I’ll try then.’
Ram takes out his phone, scrolling to Frankie’s name.
I count the rings. 286
One, two, three, four, five …
The voicemail will kick in any second.
‘Hello?’ Ram says. ‘Frankie?’
My eyes widen. She’s answered?
‘Who is this please? Where’s Frankie?’ Ram asks. ‘Is she there?’
‘Put it on speaker,’ I say.
Ram does as I’ve asked.
It sounds like the call is coming from inside some sort of bar or nightclub.
‘Frankie?’ a girl’s voice says. ‘Who the hell is Frankie? This is Kristin’s phone.’
‘Kristin?’ Ram mouths at me, his forehead knotted in confusion. ‘Who’s Kristin?’
‘OK, Kristin then,’ I say, grabbing the phone from Ram and bringing it closer to my face. ‘Is she there?’
‘No, she’s chucking up in the loo.’
‘Is she OK?’ I ask.
‘How should I know? She’s been in there a while, though. Listen, who are you exactly?’
‘I’m her best friend,’ I say, my shoulders automatically rolling back. ‘Who are you?’
There’s a muffled silence on the other end of the line.
‘Have they hung up?’ Ram asks.
‘I don’t know. Hello? Hello? Is anyone there?’
After about ten seconds, the sound of the club or bar returns.
‘Hello?’ I repeat.
‘If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave Kristin alone,’ the girl says.
‘What?’ 287
‘You heard me. Slut.’ This time she does hang up.
Blinking, I hand the phone back to Ram.
‘What the fuck was that?’ he asks. ‘And who’s Kristin?’
‘Kristin is Frankie. It’s a stage name she came up with years ago. Kristin Winters.’
Kristin Winters and Amelia Wylde.
‘And who was that?’
‘I haven’t a clue. She didn’t sound very nice, though.’
‘No, she didn’t.’
I bite down on my lip. ‘We need to go get Frankie, Ram.’
‘But we don’t know where she is.’
‘There can’t be that many clubs or bars in walking distance that are still open at this time.’
‘Yeah, but we can’t just rock up at every late-night venue in town on the off-chance she’ll be there.’
‘Well, we can’t just stay here. She might be in trouble. You know she can’t handle her alcohol very well. What if she has an accident and hurts herself? Or someone takes advantage of her?’ Panic rises in my voice.
‘It’s OK,’ Ram says, the flicker of worry in his eyes betraying his confident delivery. ‘We’ll find her. I just don’t think hitting clubs at random is our best option here …’
I sit down on the bed and Google clubs and bars in Swindon. There are literally dozens of listings. Ram is right, it’d be like finding a needle in a haystack.
‘This is all my fault. This is all my fault,’ I repeat, as I scroll through the listings, hoping intuition will kick in and I’ll somehow just magically know where she is.
‘No it isn’t,’ Ram says, his voice firm. ‘Yes, this is a crazy situation, but it was Frankie’s choice to storm off.’ 288
‘It doesn’t matter. She would never have run off if it wasn’t for me. I’m supposed to be her best friend …’
‘That’s it,’ Ram says, cutting me off.
‘What?’
‘Find Your Friends.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘The app. That’s how Frankie knew where to find you. Do you still have it installed on your phone?’
‘I don’t know. I think so.’ I retrieve my phone from where I shoved it to the very bottom of my bag and turn it on.
‘I thought you said you were out of battery,’ Ram says.
I ignore him, my hand trembling as the screen glows into life. Within seconds, notification after notification fills up the screen – missed calls and voicemails and messages. I minimize them all, scrolling through my apps until I find the Find Your Friends icon. I log in.
Within seconds, we have a location.
We’re nearly at the club, Aphrodite’s, when it begins to rain. It’s just a few spots at first, but within less than a minute it’s a deluge and we’re forced to shelter in a shop doorway.
‘We’re wasting time,’ I say, my body jangling with nerves as the rain falls down in sheets in front of us. ‘The club’s going to be closing soon.’
‘But we’ll get drenched,’ Ram points out. ‘I don’t mind, but what about Albie?’
A crash of lightning makes Ram and I jump. Miraculously Albie, fast asleep against my chest, doesn’t even stir.
‘But what if she leaves before we get there?’ I ask, my words almost drowned out by a menacing roll of thunder. ‘She’s all by herself, drunk and upset in a town she doesn’t know …’ 289
‘Hang on,’ Ram says.
He pulls off his T-shirt and slips it over my head so it covers Albie. The T-shirt smells of New Year’s Eve. I shove the thought away. This is not the time for nostalgia. ‘How’s that?’ he asks, his hands resting gently on my shoulders. ‘It won’t protect him completely but it might stop him from getting completely soaked.’
‘It’s perfect,’ I say, trying not to look at Ram’s bare torso, trying not to remember what it felt like against mine, skin on skin.
For a moment we stay like that, his hands on my shoulders, our eyes locked together.
‘We should go,’ I say.
Ram nods and removes his hands. ‘Ready to make a run for it?’ he asks.
‘Ready.’
‘No chance, last entry was at half one,’ the bouncer tells us when we turn up at the entrance to the club a few minutes later, out of breath from our mad dash through the rain.
‘But we have to come in,’ I say, panting. ‘My best friend is in there.’
The bouncer rolls his eyes. ‘As sob stories go, I’ve heard better.’
‘But we’re really worried about her. Please, we won’t be long.’
‘Sorry, love. Even if it wasn’t way past last admission, I couldn’t let you in anyway.’
‘Why not?’
‘Mr Universe here,’ he says, nodding at Ram’s naked torso. ‘Call us old-fashioned, but we prefer our punters fully dressed.’
‘Hang on,’ I say, pulling off the damp T-shirt and handing it back to Ram. 290
He tugs it on.
‘Wait a second,’ the bouncer says, squinting down at my chest. ‘Is that a bleedin’ baby?’
‘Oh,’ I say, taking a tiny step backwards and wrapping my arms protectively around the still-sleeping Albie. ‘Yes.’
He throws back his head and laughs. ‘I’ve seen it all now!’ he says. ‘You’ll be wanting a family discount next.’
‘Please,’ Ram says. ‘We just need to get to our friend. We called her phone and a stranger answered and we’re worried she might be in some kind of trouble.’
The bouncer pauses. ‘Hang on a second,’ he says. ‘This friend of yours, she got an accent like yours?’
‘Yes,’ Ram and I say in unison.
‘Why?’ I ask. ‘Do you remember her coming in?’
‘Maybe. It’s just that a bit ago, some girl was trying to get back in the club, banging on about needing to get her phone or something.’
‘A bit ago? Can you be more specific?’
‘God, I dunno,’ he says, pushing his hands through his thinning hair. ‘Ten minutes ago, fifteen.’
‘And what did she look like?’ I demand. ‘The girl?’
‘How am I supposed to remember? Do you know how many people come through these doors? They all look the bloody same after a while.’
‘Tall? Short? Dark? Fair?’ Ram asks.
‘Tall, I think. And dark …’ The bouncer furrows his brow. ‘Yeah. Dark. Bit exotic-looking maybe?’
‘Italian?’ I suggest.
‘Yeah, now that I come to think of it, she might have had a touch of the Med about her.’ 291
‘OK, I’m pretty sure that’s her,’ I say.
‘Oh. Well, in that case, you’re not going to find her here.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I sent her on her way.’
‘What? Why?’
He taps the framed sign on the wall. ‘No readmission after one thirty a.m.,’ he says, rolling his eyes. ‘It’s not bleedin’ rocket science.’
‘But she’s all by herself in a town she doesn’t know,’ I say.
The bouncer sighs a long weary sigh. ‘Look, I know it sounds harsh, but that’s not my problem. Once you’re on the other side of this line’ – he pauses to motion behind him – ‘then you’re my problem, but until then …’
I turn to Ram. ‘Where do you think she’s gone?’
‘Back to the hotel?’
‘I hope so. She’s terrified of thunderstorms.’
Ram peers out into the street. The rain shows no absolutely no signs of stopping anytime soon. ‘OK, how’s this for a plan?’ he asks. ‘You wait here where it’s dry. I’ll go back to the hotel, pick up the car, and hopefully Frankie, then come back and get you and Albie. I should be fifteen minutes tops.’
A woman comes up the stairs. Like the bouncer, she’s dressed all in black, a walkie-talkie clipped to her belt. She zones in on Albie immediately, her stern face melting into a wide smile. ‘And who’s this little stunner?’ she asks.
‘Er, Albie,’ I say.
‘’Ello, Albie,’ the woman says, stooping down so her face is level with his. ‘I’m your auntie Kaz. Now, aren’t you a cutie?’ She straightens up and turns to the bouncer. ‘What’s going on?’ she asks.
‘Ask them two.’ 292
‘Our friend left here about ten minutes ago,’ Ram explains. ‘She’s all by herself and we’re worried about her. Would it be OK if my friend waited here while I go get her?’
‘You must be joking,’ the bouncer says. ‘This is a nightclub, not a bleedin’ crèche.’
‘Oh, Alex,’ Kaz says. ‘You really are a miserable git sometimes.’ She turns to me. ‘Come with me, sweetheart. Auntie Kaz will sort you out.’
The cloakroom is down the stairs, just before the double doors leading into the club. On the other side I can hear the thump of music. The cloakroom attendant, a girl of around nineteen or twenty dressed in a toga, her hair a mass of thick black braids, is sitting in the kiosk window, hunched over a textbook. The rails behind her are largely empty.
‘All right, Aisha,’ Kaz says.
Aisha looks up, her forehead wrinkling with confusion at the sight of me and Albie at Kaz’s side.
‘This is …’ Kaz pauses. ‘Sorry, sweetheart, I never asked your name.’
‘It’s Jojo,’ I say.
‘Aisha, this is Jojo. Jojo and Albie. They need somewhere to hang out until this storm dies down. They OK to sit with you for a bit?’
‘I guess so,’ Aisha says, pulling a face. ‘Hang on a sec, I’ll just grab the door.’ She abandons her textbook and disappears from view, reappearing a few seconds later in the door to the left of the kiosk window.
‘Thanks, Aish,’ Kaz says. ‘You’re a star. I’ll be back in a bit.’ She jogs back up the stairs, leaving Aisha and me facing one another.293
‘He yours?’ she asks, nodding at Albie.
‘Er, yeah.’
‘How old are you?’
‘Sixteen.’
‘Sixteen?’
I nod.
‘Mental.’
I don’t really know what to say to that.
‘You’d better come in,’ Aisha says, standing aside, a wry expression on her face.
I smile tightly and squeeze past her into the cloakroom.