“Maybe…” Win considered how important it was for Freya to understand. Decided it was worth a shot. “I suppose it’s that there’s all these different pieces of me. There’s School Win and Home Win and Online Win and they’re all just fine. I know them, I like them. I’m happy being them. But one day there’s going to be University Win and I think she’s like the Endgame Iron Man version of me.”
“Dead?”
Win laughed and shoved Freya with her foot. “The one that’s assimilated all the lessons of my earlier films to come back as a total badass. Familiar but fundamentally different in the best possible way – being that Win’ll be easier. I think.”
“Does that work?” Freya said. “Splitting into different versions of yourself to survive?”
Win tutted. “Surviving makes it sound dramatic.”
“I didn’t—”
“I know, Freya. All I’m saying is that this is just me, and how I deal with things, and I’m OK with that.” She looked at the girl on the far end of the sofa, tried to soften what she was saying. “I don’t need you feeling sorry for me because I’m not sharing every little piece of myself with everyone.”
“I wasn’t feeling sorry for you,” Freya said.
A second later her phone flashed up and the two of them retreated to the things that made them feel safe: Freya to her friends and Win to her revision.
SOPHIE
Something about Lucas was nudging at the back of Sophie’s mind. A memory without substance. Not like the ones that crowded in as the car edged over the bridge and into the genteel hybrid of Georgian architecture and high street chains, where every square millimetre brought back a snapshot of Freya. The yellow-painted bricks and bright hanging baskets of The Teeswater Sheep reminded Sophie of queuing up, determined to pass for eighteen, only for the bouncer to swat away Freya’s attempt to flirt by saying, “I’ve got a granddaughter older than you, pet.” Or the hours spent lurking in the aisles of Sainsbury’s, waiting for the rain to let up; or sunny days sitting on the bench outside the bakery, challenging each other to eat a jam doughnut without licking their lips. That was the cashpoint where Freya had squealed in delight after getting her first pay cheque before insisting they go to the chippy, her treat…
“I didn’t even know this many Year 11s existed,” Sunny said from the back.
There must have been hundreds of them, too many to fit on the pavement, students spilling out to trickle through the gaps between the parked cars. Buckthorn was the biggest contingent, a river of green skirts and grey trousers and scribbled white shirts flowing onto the high street from the bridge to join the Campion crowd. United in taking over the town.
“It’s because of what happened last year. Both schools banned muck-up, so someone started a campaign for us to get together down here,” Sophie said, scanning the blue shirts of the Campion boys, looking for Kellan Spencer out of habit.
Do you think he’ll turn into a frog?
Who?
The Campion Prince – like the frog prince in reverse. Kiss him and he might go all amphibian on your ass.
I don’t care. I just want to kiss him.
And she had. A hazy August evening, Freya and Kellan had vanished from where the rest of them were hanging out down by the wharf, later emerging from behind the wall of Sainsbury’s car park, Kellan’s fingers twisted with Freya’s, the two of them competing for who could look the most smug. The hottest of the Campion lads and the most popular girl at Buckthorn. A couple that made sense on paper and looked perfect on Instagram.
Something dislodged at the back of her brain…
“You OK?”
“Mm?” Sophie glanced across at Win in surprise. The only people who ever asked that question were the ones who knew to check in on her lupus.
“It’s just…” Win’s attention was on the road as she shrugged. “You looked like you’d thought of something.”
Because she had. Lucas’s name hadn’t come up in a conversation about Freya’s job, but about her boyfriend. And it had only been once. Back in September.
“I was thinking that I hope Lucas still works at Rabscuttle,” Sophie said. September was a long time ago.
“And if he doesn’t?” Win asked. But Sophie didn’t have an answer.
“Do you think he’s Campion?” Sunny blared from the back.
“There are other schools, Sunny,” Win added.
“Ooh. Or colleges. Maybe he’s a sixth former?”
But Sophie shook her head, the memory finally taking a recognisable form.
“I’m pretty sure he’s our age…”
“Fifteen!” piped Sunny.
“Turned seventeen back in October.”
“I meant mine and Freya’s,” Sophie murmured.
She always meant her and Freya.
September – 118 days before Freya left
The amount of school work that Freya had dumped on the bed made it look like Sophie’d missed the first two months, not the first two days.
“Yeah. It’s been pretty intense.” Freya looked at the books and worksheets, realised there wasn’t any room for her, and moved the whole lot onto the floor. Kicking her shoes off, she settled onto the end of the bed and reached for a slice of the toast that Sophie’s mum had brought up along with her guest.
“So what’s wrong with you and is it infectious?”
Sophie shrugged. What was wrong was that she felt tired and achy, her body too heavy for her to walk any further than the bathroom. She’d spent the last week of the summer holidays napping all day and lying awake all night.
“Mum thinks it’s glandular fever, but we’ll know tomorrow when my blood test comes back.” Her third that year. “If it’s that, then you’re only at risk if I spit on you.”
Freya looked at the toast, then at Sophie. “You didn’t, like, lick the butter when I wasn’t looking?”
“No.”
Freya took a bite and gave Sophie’s foot a squeeze through the duvet. “Here’s hoping it’s a false alarm. My stepbrother got that partway through uni and had to retake his first year.”
“Mm.” Sophie wasn’t exactly a keener, but the thought of missing so much school she couldn’t sit her GCSEs was scary enough that she didn’t want to think about it. “I’m feeling better now anyway. Today I sat in the garden and stroked Woof for ten minutes. Might actually get as far as school on Friday.”
Freya finished her slice of toast, then burst out with, “God.”
She did this sometimes, started a conversation in her head and only said anything out loud once she was halfway through.
“You’d think just because I mentioned another guy’s name I’m cheating on Kellan.”
Given the triangulation of information she received from the selfies on Freya’s Instagram, her live-feed messages to the group chat and the quiet, private messages she sent Sophie afterwards, there was no possible way Freya could cheat on Kellan without Sophie knowing about it.
But then, she’d not heard her talk about any other boys…
“Whose name?”