I Have No Secrets

‘You left a glove in my car,’ he tells her. ‘I only found it today. I was passing so I thought I’d pop it in. Don’t want you getting chilly fingers!’

‘Oh, thanks! I was wondering where it was,’ she replies. ‘But I’ve got to get a move on. I’m off out with Emma and Rihanna – we’re going to the cinema.’

‘Out again?’ he says.

‘Yes, I switched my next night off. It’s Emma’s birthday,’ Sarah says quickly. Sarah seems to have her excuse ready prepared – but I guess this is what she’s told Mum. ‘We’re having a girls’ night out. Becks is coming too. We’re seeing that film you said was for soppy teenage girls.’

‘No way!’

‘Yeah, really.’ Sarah laughs for a little too long. ‘And I’ve gotta go or I’ll be late.’

‘No worries, I’ll give you a lift,’ says Dan.

‘No, Dan. I’m fine,’ Sarah assures him.

‘It’s no prob,’ says Dan.

‘Oh . . . All right, then.’

An uneasy feeling grips my chest. I don’t want her to go with him. What he said to me . . . Surely he was joking. Dan’s horrible, but he wouldn’t actually kill someone. Would he? And why did he turn up here this evening? It doesn’t feel right. Maybe she’s done something to make him suspicious. Was he trying to catch her out?

Sarah says goodbye to me and touches my hand gently. Her hand is hot – she knows this is a mess and she briefly meets my eyes with a look that says she knows I know this too. She turns to the door.

‘Bye, Jemma,’ Dan says, winking again. I see his sneering face in my head when he called me freak and remember what else he said. I don’t trust him one bit.

They go and I hear the front door bang shut.

Dad comes in and stares up at the ballet shoe on the light fitting, muttering, ‘You’ve got to be joking,’ under his breath.

5

Mum gets me ready for bed, but I’m barely listening as she chats away about needing to get me some new clothes. What did Dan mean?

If only Mum could see inside my head – the thoughts spinning round. But I know on the outside I must look exactly the same as I always do. Nothing shows. No one knows.

He must have been joking. If he was involved then wouldn’t we have heard something? Wouldn’t he be a suspect? Even so, I wish I could tell someone. Just so they can know what he’s like. Just in case.

If he was confessing, then he knew he was telling the one person who would keep his secret safe. Maybe he thinks I don’t even understand what he says. I just want to know for sure. Because if Dan is a murderer, and he finds out Sarah is cheating on him . . .

I can’t sleep at all, waiting to know that Sarah is safely back. My room is downstairs, but at the back of the house, and I listen for the sound of the front door. Finally I hear her come in, but I’m facing away from my bedside clock so can’t see the time. Maybe she’ll come in to turn me – I have to be turned in the night so I don’t get sore from being in one position. Yes. I can hear her footsteps.

She’s breathing quite fast and her hands aren’t as gentle as usual. She catches my eye in the dimmed light, and sees that I’m awake. I will her to tell me what happened. Sometimes Sarah seems to read my mind. That’s one of the things I love about her.

‘That wasn’t the best evening of my life,’ she whispers.

I wait eagerly for more. She sits down on the edge of the bed.

‘I can’t believe Dan turned up! That glove thing was just an excuse, don’t you think? He’s getting so serious – he said he couldn’t bear to be apart from me.’ She laughs. ‘I sat in his car with my fingers crossed that he wouldn’t think something was wrong. Then he wanted to actually come into the cinema with me, but luckily it was really hard to park so he couldn’t.’

She runs her hand through her hair. Only Sarah would get herself into this situation.

‘I was scared he might hang around so I texted Richard from the loos to say I’d be late and waited ten minutes before I even dared walk to the pub! You’ve gotta laugh, Jem.’

Sarah is not taking this seriously at all. At least it sounds like Dan didn’t catch her out.

‘When I got there,’ she continues, ‘Richard looked so pleased to see me. I just couldn’t do it to him.’

My heart sinks. Sarah is fidgeting and looks excited about something. Has she changed her mind and decided she wants to be with Richard after all?

‘Jem, he’s only gone and booked tickets for us to see Glowlight next month! It’ll be amazing!’ She gives me a sheepish look. ‘Is it really bad if I keep going out with him until then?’

Glowlight! Well, it’s not great to use him for his tickets, but it is Glowlight. Maybe I’d do the same . . . No, this is wrong. Sarah needs to break up with Richard!

‘Perhaps we could just go to the concert as friends,’ she continues. ‘But I don’t think Richard would like that. I know Dan wouldn’t.’

She sighs and smooths my duvet down.

‘I’m such a coward, Jem.’

I don’t know what I’d do if I were Sarah – though I’d like to think I wouldn’t get myself into such a mess in the first place.

6

When the minibus drops me back from school on Monday, Mum tells me we have visitors. She pushes my wheelchair into the kitchen, where Mr and Mrs Blake are drinking tea. Paula and Mum have known each other for years, but more to say hello in the street than as actual friends. I remember her coming to Mum a few times when Ryan was young and playing up, asking Mum for advice. I think there was a time when she even hoped Mum would foster him.

Since Ryan died Mum’s tried to be supportive, and Paula’s been round here a few times. Graeme – Mr Blake – doesn’t usually come with her, though.

Paula says hi to me and smiles, but her grief is clear in the deep lines on her face and her drooping eyes. Graeme shuffles awkwardly and taps the rim of his mug with his finger. I can tell that I make him uncomfortable. I notice he’s kept his black outdoor jacket on while Paula has taken off her coat. He’s clearly hoping not to be here long.

‘I know he was no angel,’ Paula is saying to Mum, ‘but I was so hard on him – always nagging, criticising, going on at him to change. The last thing I said to him was, “Get out and don’t come back!” Can you believe it? That’s what I said!’

She bursts into tears.

Graeme touches her shoulder and shuffles awkwardly again.

Mum hands Paula a tissue.

‘I know,’ says Mum, ‘but you could never have known what would happen. You were trying to set boundaries. He knew you loved him. He knew that’s why you kept on at him.’

‘Do you really think so?’ Paula sobs.

When we were little, Ryan used to stick his tongue out at me if he passed me in the street. Then when he got a bit older, he called me ‘Spaz’ or ‘Spazzie’ or worse things. He even spat at me once.

I don’t miss Ryan, but obviously I feel horrible for Paula. Ryan was a loser, but he was still her son – and Graeme’s.

I look at Graeme. He’s like a block of stone.

Paula sips her tea. ‘I can’t bear the thought that the monster who did it is walking around free. I might pass him in the street and never know.’

Dan’s face comes into my mind. Yes, you might, I think. He was here – he was here in this house, I want to tell Paula. A sound comes out of my mouth, a strained gurgle. Paula glances at me and quickly away again.

I wish I could tell them what he said. Just in case. I don’t know if Dan and Ryan even knew each other. They’re very different. And Dan doesn’t seem like he’d be involved with drugs and gangs and stuff. Or maybe he’s just good at hiding it. ‘We’d better be off,’ Graeme says gruffly.

Paula turns and gives him a bewildered look as if to say, ‘Off where? Off for what? What is there to be off for?’

But she pulls herself up from the chair and Graeme helps her on with her coat.

‘At least the Crimewatch thing might help,’ I hear Mum say, as she sees them out. ‘Let’s just hope someone calls in and the police get a lead.’

So Ryan’s murder is going to be on Crimewatch ! Maybe that will make everything clear. I hope Mum and Dad will let me watch it. I’ve never seen it, but I know about it – how they reconstruct crimes, and people watching can phone up if they know anything. Maybe there will be some clue that will tell me if Dan really did it – and if he did, then Sarah or Mum or Dad or someone else watching will surely realise it was him.

7

Sarah greets me when the minibus drops me back from school on Tuesday, with a smile even bigger than her usual cheerful one.

‘Ooh, Jem! A letter’s come from your sister!Your mum hasn’t opened it. She’s waiting for you. But I hope she’ll show me later! I’m dying to know what she’s said.’

Sarah wheels me into the kitchen, announcing ‘Jemma’s home!’ to Mum. She doesn’t go – I think she’s hoping Mum will let her stay.

‘Thanks, Sarah,’ says Mum.

Sarah shoots me a pretend annoyed look and leaves, closing the door after her.

We sit at the kitchen table and Mum carefully opens the white envelope.

My heart thuds.

‘Are you ready for this?’ Mum asks.

She puts the letter down so I can see it.

‘Dear Jemma,’ she reads. ‘I didn’t know you existed until a few months ago. I found some papers in a drawer that were about me. One of them had your name on it under mine. My name is Jodi and I am your sister! ’

Mum pauses and looks up at me, before continuing.

‘In fact, more than that, Jemma. We are twins! ’

Twins? Mum never told me that.

‘We must have been born only minutes apart,’ Mum reads. ‘The thing is – I’ve always had this weird feeling – like something was missing. When I found out about you I thought – this is it! This explains it. I have a twin sister. We spent nine months together before we were born and we’ve been separated ever since. ’

Missing? I’ve never felt that. But maybe that’s because so much else is missing for me – like legs and arms that work and a voice.

Mum is still reading.

‘Now I’m going to tell you some stuff about me. I live in Enfield – only a few miles from you! I live with my mum and dad (the ones who adopted me), but I don’t have any brothers or sisters. I’ve ALWAYS wanted a sister.

‘Favourite things. Colour – purple. Food – ice-cream sundae. Sport – hockey (I play for the school team). Pet – cat (mine’s called Fluff – she really is like a fluffy white bundle and I love her to bits! She went missing last year and was found up a tree after three days!). People – my best friend, Ava, my boyfriend, Jack, and my parents too. They are lovely and even though I was angry that they didn’t tell me about you and they were upset that I found out, they’ve calmed down now and said they’re sorry that they didn’t tell me before.

‘There’s so much more I could write, but I’ll stop now as I’ve got tons of homework.

‘I know you have disabilities and that you can’t write back. I’ve been told about that. It’s no big deal. Don’t worry, I’ll keep writing!

‘I’ve put in a photo of me, though our printer at home is rubbish and it’s come out a bit dark. I’ll try to find a better photo – and maybe next time I’ll send you a picture of Fluff too!

‘I will write again soon.

‘Love, Jodi x. ’

Mum holds the photo so I can see it. It’s kind of blurry, but Jodi has dark hair like mine and her eyes are a bit like mine too. She looks pretty.

‘I’ll reply for you, Jemma,’ says Mum. ‘And I’ll encourage Jodi to keep writing. We’ll take things slowly and hopefully one day you’ll be able to meet her.’

I’m only half listening. I can’t take my eyes off the photo. That’s my sister – my twin sister!

Mum puts the photo by my bed and looking at it and thinking about the letter keeps me happy for the next couple of days. I am sleeping better too. It is almost enough to stop me thinking about Dan. But when Thursday evening comes I am desperate for Dad to let me stay in the lounge to watch Crimewatch.

Sarah’s upstairs putting Finn and Olivia to bed and Mum’s getting her coat on to go to Weightwatchers. She’s been trying to eat healthily, but I know her secret – I see her hide bars of chocolate between the books on the highest shelf in the lounge.

I’m hoping my limbs stay still and no sounds escape my mouth so she’ll forget I’m here as Dad is more likely to let me watch Crimewatch than Mum. But Mum comes to say goodbye to me and then turns to Dad.

‘I’m not sure Jemma should see it,’ she says. ‘It might upset her.’

‘She’s fourteen,’ says Dad. ‘I bet she’d be interested to see it, wouldn’t you, Jemma?’ He turns to me and back to Mum. ‘It’s not as if she hasn’t heard us all talk about it.’

I wish I could hug Dad.

Mum still looks uncertain. She glances from Dad to me and back again.

Please!

‘All right, then,’ says Mum. ‘Hopefully I’ll be back in time, but if not you’ll have to fill me in.’

When it starts, I’m disappointed that Sarah isn’t here – but Dad calls her, and she brings a basket of washing in with her to fold, and sits on the armchair.

Mum gets back just as they start showing Ryan’s case and she hurries in, still in her coat.

‘Put on two pounds,’ she sighs, and I hear the sofa creak as she sits down next to Dad.

‘Four weeks ago,’ the presenter says, ‘nineteen-year-old Ryan Blake was brutally stabbed to death in Walden Cross. The culprit and motive remain a mystery. Witnesses have helped to make the reconstruction that you are about to see.’

They show actors, including one I can clearly see is meant to be Ryan, drinking in a local pub, the Hare and Hound. Then Ryan and his friends leave and gradually split up until Ryan is left with one friend, who then heads off for home. Instead of going home himself, Ryan doubles back. No one knows why he did this. He heads down a side street, though they’re not sure which one he actually went down – and comes out somewhere behind the station.

That was where his body was found.

‘Did you see Ryan in Warduff Street or Mackenzie Avenue between 11 p.m. and midnight?’ the presenter asks. ‘A man in a black jacket was seen walking along Mackenzie Street just before 11 p.m. This man has not yet been identified. Are you that man or did you also see him that night?’

I try to think like Poirot. I’ve listened to loads of Agatha Christie audiobooks that Mum’s aunt gave me. I need to be observant – to have an eye for anything that might be a clue, even if it seems unlikely. Everyone is a suspect in Agatha Christie. Ryan’s friends seem like a dodgy bunch. Maybe the last friend he was with didn’t go home. Maybe he doubled back too. Perhaps Ryan had lied to him – or one of the others, or ripped them off. But there isn’t much to go on to work out a motive.

What about the man in the black jacket? Dan has a black jacket, but it’s a bit different to the one they showed.

Suddenly I remember Graeme – Ryan’s dad – sitting in our kitchen. His jacket looked like the one on the programme. Graeme? Is it possible? Could he have got so fed up with Ryan that he lost his temper and killed him? One of the crime books I listened to said most people are killed by members of their families. And in Agatha Christie it’s often the quiet ones you have to watch. But Graeme? Murder his own son? It’s easier to believe that Dan did it. I’ve seen what he can be like – even though no one else has.

I want to see Sarah’s reaction, but I’m facing the telly. I wish she’d say something.

‘Police say the alley behind the station is known to be used by drug dealers,’ the presenter continues, ‘but no drugs were found in Ryan’s blood.’ They mention that the knife used hasn’t been found and they give the number for people to call.

‘Right, Jemma,’ says Mum. For a moment I imagine her keying in the number and handing me the phone so I can tell them what Dan said. But of course, she’s just telling me that it’s time for me to go to bed.

Sarah wheels me out as Crimewatch moves on to a series of armed burglaries in Dartford.

8

‘Listen, pet, I’ve got something to tell you,’ Mum says the next evening.

I’m all ears – wondering if it’s to do with Crimewatch. No one’s mentioned it since yesterday and I’ve been waiting for news. Did anyone call the programme? Do the police have any new leads?

Then I wonder if it’s Jodi. Has she written again?

‘You remember I told you about Carlstone College?’ Mum says. ‘I’ve arranged for us to go up there next week.’

My mind whirls – this is so far from what I was thinking about. Carlstone College. When Mum talked about it before, she said I might go there when I’m older – not now. Has she changed her mind?

‘They have a communications expert coming,’ Mum tells me. ‘Professor Spalding. It’s a meeting for any interested families – even those whose children aren’t at the college. I can’t make any promises – but maybe he’ll be able to help you. And we can have a look around too, just to see what it’s like.’

A while ago they showed me this leaflet for Carlstone. Mum said they had amazing facilities and might be able to help me much more than the school I’m at. I liked the sound of the college. I thought I might really enjoy it and they do loads more subjects there. Then Mum told me it’s a three-hour drive from here. I’d have to live there, like at a boarding school.

Mum said if I went there she and Dad would come and visit, and I’d be able to come home some weekends and in the school holidays. I was so relieved the next day when Mum said she thought I was too young, and maybe some time in the future we’d all go and have a look at it. But I thought that meant in a couple of years – not a couple of months.

And what about Sarah? If she came with me it wouldn’t be so bad, but I bet people don’t get to take their own carers. And she wouldn’t want to be three hours away from Dan, would she?

I try to focus on what Mum is saying about the communications expert. Hopefully our visit really is just about seeing this professor. But I can’t stop thinking that it might be something more. The worry is gnawing at my brain, joining the other worries and the questions I can never ask.

I feel myself withdrawing like a tortoise into a shell. Mum’s still talking, but I’m no longer listening.

When Sarah comes to fetch me for dinner she looks at me for a moment and frowns.

‘What’s up, Jem?’

I don’t know how she can tell that something’s wrong, but she can and I’m glad. Maybe my limbs are even stiffer than usual when she moves me. I certainly feel stiffer. Everything aches.

‘I hope you’re not coming down with something,’ she continues.

She looks into my eyes for clues. I wish they could give her some. She feels my brow, inspects my arms, legs and chest for rashes. Then she gets the ear thermometer and takes my temperature. Hopefully once she’s sussed I’m not ill, she’ll work out how unhappy I am.

Sarah wheels me into the kitchen. Everyone else is already at the table, but the cutlery is missing. Finn has removed it and lined it all up neatly on the floor against the wall – a row of forks, then knives, then spoons.

Dad shakes his head at Finn and sighs as he picks them up, and there is a delay while he washes them in the sink. He isn’t angry. He understands Finn.

‘Something’s wrong with Jemma,’ Sarah tells Mum.

I watch Mum’s face. Will she make the connection and realise that what she said before has got me worried?

‘Are you hungry?’ Mum asks me. ‘Sorry dinner’s a bit late.’

I’m not hungry. And now I feel sick at the thought of eating.

Sarah shakes her head. ‘It’s more than that.’

Mum shrugs rather dismissively, and then I wonder if maybe she doesn’t want Sarah to know about her plans, because Sarah will lose her job if I’m sent away.

Once the cutlery is washed and dried, Sarah spoons food into my mouth. I find it hard to swallow. Olivia knocks her cup over – I’m not sure if it is accidental or on purpose, but water spreads in a pool across the table and Dad’s ‘Oh, Olivia’ is enough to start her wailing theatrically. Dad tells her to calm down, which brings on a full-blown tantrum. My head is pounding now.

Mum and Dad are both fussing over Olivia. I scream inside my head sometimes – making the kind of noise she’s making now, but of course no one ever knows.

Sarah aims another spoonful into my mouth. I cough and splutter. I can’t stop coughing. I need a drink. Sarah is distracted, looking at Olivia, and I start to panic. I feel like I can’t breathe. It is a moment before she sits me forward in my wheelchair and pats me on the back. She holds the straw to my lips and looks from me to Mum as Olivia finally stops shrieking. ‘I told you something was wrong. I think she’s going down with something. I’ll sleep in her room tonight.’

No one understands. When I’m worried and I just want reassurance I have no way of getting it. Then my worries just grow and grow. Mum and Dad assume it’s something physical because it so often is, but all I want is to be able to tell them how I feel . . .

‘Thanks, Sarah,’ says Mum. ‘There’s a nasty fluey bug going round. I hope it isn’t that.’

Later, Sarah’s getting me ready for bed when her mobile rings.

‘It’s Dan. We haven’t spoken all week. I’d better answer,’ she says apologetically, ‘or he might think I’m avoiding him.’

She says hello, and then puts the phone on loudspeaker and leaves it on the bed, crouching to take off my socks. I hear Dan’s voice, as clear as if he’s in the room.

‘How was the film, babe?’

Sarah has taken off one of my socks and started on the other one. She stops, bites her lip and leans towards the phone. ‘Great,’ she chirps.

‘Really? What was so great about it?’ he asks.

‘Why do you care?’ Sarah asks. ‘It’s not your kind of film – you said so yourself.’

‘Just asking,’ he says.

There’s a pause. ‘Sorry,’ says Sarah, ‘I can’t chat now. I’m getting Jemma ready for bed. She’s not too well. I’ll call you later and tell you all about it, OK?’

‘Sure – speak later. Love you, babe!’

Sarah puts her phone in her pocket, then laughs. ‘I’ll have to look up some reviews online,’ she tells me. ‘I don’t even know who’s in it!’

9

‘Come on, Finn!’ Mum calls cheerfully as we reach the gate of the park.

When I woke up this morning I had this weird floaty feeling, like nothing in my life is real. I am apparently neither ill nor well. It doesn’t surprise me that my body’s behaving weirdly. All these thoughts have got to get out somehow. Sarah and Mum keep taking my temperature. ‘A bit under the weather’ is how Mum described me. We often go to the park on Saturdays and she said some fresh air might do me good.

‘We’ll go and see the ducks first,’ Mum tells Finn and Olivia.

If I could roll my eyes, I would. I liked being taken to see the ducks when I was six, but right now I’ve got other things on my mind. If we have to be here, I was hoping we were going to the park café. It’s at the top of the hill and I know it’s not easy to push me up there, but from the top you get a view right over the park. I like the feeling of being so high – on top of the world, looking down. From my wheelchair I so often feel low down, looking up at things.

Olivia skips ahead, Sarah’s pushing me, and Mum’s cajoling Finn – who is walking slowly, flapping his hand in front of his face. I think he likes the patterns of light it makes. Soon we reach the pond and we stop by the barrier, near a clump of early daffodils. I watch Olivia throw corn at the nearest ducks as if she’s trying to murder one. I’m sure she just said, ‘Yeah! Got it!’

Mum pushes corn into Finn’s hand and helps him aim, but the corn just drops on to the path. He isn’t really interested and starts to pull away towards the playground.