I turned over in Harry’s bed, taking my face away from the pillow I’d smothered it in and allowing it to feel the cool breeze of Harry’s fan. Harry stirred a little in his sleep and I smiled at him. I’d never have landed such a hot boy if I hadn’t sorted out my appearance a few years ago. The room was silent apart from the buzzing of the fan and I was scared to move for fear of waking him up. He was so peaceful when he was asleep. I let my arm fall off the edge of the bed to grab the t-shirt I had been wearing the night before, pulling it on as well as my shorts.
“You're leaving already?” I turned to see Harry propped up on his left elbow, his right hand rubbing his eyes.
“I was here all of yesterday. My Mum will go mad if I don’t come home soon.” That was a lie, of course. Mum had slacked on all rules of discipline since Phoebe. However, I wanted my own space. Harry and I had been going out for over a year now and I wanted to just relax in the garden and read a book or listen to some music.
“What about going to the beach?”
“Another time?” I said, finishing getting dressed as I pulled my hair up into a ponytail.
“I love your hair when it is down and messy. It looks hot.”
“Yeah, I’m going now,” I said, and he grinned. I had not fallen for his trap again where he made me feel beautiful so that I would stay with him a little longer.
“Call me,” he added as I closed his bedroom door behind me. I went down his familiar steps and through his kitchen where his Mum was making breakfast for Harry’s younger sisters, Jenny and Kate, and his brother, Adam.
“Hey, Kayla,” they all chorused, except for Jenny. She was fourteen and still not convinced I was the right guy for her brother.
“Hey everyone,” I said, pathetically waving my right hand. “See you all later.” I went through the front door and out on to the street. It was a hot day and, even though it was still morning, I could feel the sun’s rays beating down on the bare flesh of my exposed arms, legs and face. My skin burnt so easily I’d have to rush home and get some sun cream. However, I was so tempted to stroll the ten minute walk home and breathe in the cool air that I was willing to risk looking like I’d just bathed in tomato sauce. I didn’t get much time to take things slowly anymore. I was off to university when September came to study art and design, and I’d be in Portsmouth, hours from Harry, if my grades came in as I wanted them to.
Harry was devastated when I told him. He thinks this relationship will last forever. I don’t see that happening. He’ll miss the intimacy between us whilst I’m away and he'll get off with another girl in his halls. He will eventually confess to me what has happened, and I’ll probably get really angry at him and we’ll break up. Our lives will take different paths and we’ll see each other in ten years’ time at a high school reunion and smile awkwardly at each other. I was a realistic girl. I played dumb sometimes but I was good at working things out and wasn’t one to get carried away easily. Harry was a nice companion for now. He was kind to me, and treated me well, and I enjoyed being with him generally, but he was a bit dumb and slow. I always joked it was from heading all those footballs, as he’s the striker of our local team. If he had it his way, he’d be playing the game for the rest of his life, but his parents have plans for him; the first being to go to university, then get a good job, marry a nice girl - like me as they’ve often hinted – and have kids.
I wasn’t sure about ever being a Mum really. I’d just got my figure recently. I didn’t want to destroy it by blowing up my stomach and gaining extra weight along the way. Also, I had ambition. I didn’t want to just stay at home all day. I’d watched ‘Glee’ like every other teenager, and although some of my friends now seem to think teenage pregnancy is cool because of the girl in Glee that gets pregnant, I don’t think it sounds cool. It would suck.
My friends are different to the ones I used to hang around with. In the first few years at high school, I’d been a geek. I sat at the front, chubby and with hair pulled back into a ponytail despite Phoebe saying how awful it looked, and I didn’t talk to any of the boys. Me and a girl called Rachel had become close friends, and there was also Georgia and Tina. Then, Phoebe went missing, and when I came back to school in mid-February, everyone seemed wary of me, except for Rachel. So she was my only friend for the remainder of that year and the next two.
In year ten, the vital year where you learn most of your stuff for your GCSE’s, I was sick of being fat and ugly. Instead of doing my homework, I went running and joined all the sports clubs I could at school. At first, people made fun of me, but I was actually quite good at athletics and I became a valuable member of the team. I started wearing makeup, and got my first boyfriend, Ben, which led to me getting more friends as I hung around with his group. I left Rachel and her overweight figure behind. I regret it sometimes. She was really good to me, and I just dumped her on the ground when I started to become popular. She got top grades in the exams, and I got good grades, but not what I’d been expected to achieve. I was disappointed, but chose popularity over education. In some ways, it was because of Phoebe.
There was a picture of us outside my bedroom, hanging on the wall. Every morning I walked past it, barely able to look at her. She was just so pretty, and she’d been perfect, and Mum’s favourite. I wanted to be more like her. I’d morphed into her and the space she’d left in our family. I didn’t exactly prefer who I was now, but I knew everyone else did, and I've always liked to please people. A car drove past then and a boy leant out of the window and wolf-whistled me. I grinned. My own thoughts had just been confirmed.
People didn’t seem to remember I was the sister of that-girl-who-went-missing-in-the-woods-six-years-ago. That’s who I’d been for three years until I took control of my own life. I had to be Kayla, and not just someone else’s sister. People thought I’d moved on from Phoebe but I still thought about her every day. Her picture is by my bed, and most people don’t know that I pray she will be returned to us one day. People think I’m a complete agnostic. I know somebody who believes in God shouldn’t be spreading that sort of thing about themselves around, but I don’t feel comfortable expressing my views outside of my own head. And besides, it’s not like I behave in a very Christian manner. I just pray. Maybe that’s why none of my prayers have ever been answered. It seems more like I’m speaking to a Father Christmas who grants wishes all year round, or a genie or something like that. It keeps me happy though since Mum stopped caring a couple of years ago.
I hate when she says she only has two kids. I hate how she likes to take family photos of us four, and as we all smile awkwardly into the camera, thinking that this really isn’t a family photo, and she beams cheerfully. It’s like she’s wiped Phoebe from her mind. Yes, Thomas and I do joke about Dad’s obsession with finding her as it is all he seems to do, but not to his face. He wouldn't find it funny. We want her back to, but we’re not quite so open about everything.
I walked along the street before mine, holding my left arm out so it passed over all the flowers and leaves of people’s bushes in their front gardens. I liked the noise as they all fluttered against each other. Somewhere in the florae, I heard a buzzing sound, and shortly after, a tiny nip on my finger. I took my hand away, nursing the tiniest of stings.
Mum had definitely been the quickest to get over everything. The following spring, she was sitting down in the garden planting more flowers. Pink tulips. I thought perhaps she’d at least plant Phoebe’s favourite flower – the sunflower – but no. We all watched with horror as we continued to mope around, trying not to cry when we passed her photo. Mum was grim when in front of the press, but not as grim as Dad, prompting accusations that she had been involved in the kidnapping, which were firmly denied and of course later proved wrong. That had been a terrible time though. I was fearful of my Mum for a little while. It was horrible that I was not able to trust her word completely. We’d never had a great relationship before, and that had made it all worse.
I turned into my street then and saw about five police cars parked outside of my house. I sighed, wondering if Thomas had committed his first crime. I didn’t like the group he hung around with now. But then, would they send this many cars for an adolescent crime like pinching a sweet from the pick’n’mix? I knew he’d done that before. He’d gloated to me about it, though I saw the fear in his eyes, and he never ate the toffee chew he’d held before me. I found it in the bin in the kitchen. Okay, I didn’t go rummaging in the bin. It was balanced neatly on top of the empty juice carton, as if he’d wanted me to see it so I knew he didn’t like what he’d done. He wasn't proud of himself, but was desperate to fit in, like I'd been.
Everyone was crowding around the police cars so the road was blocked and I raced up to the group, pushing through gently but forcefully to get to my house. Mum stood, looking pale, eyes wide and arms folded. My heart skipped a beat. Something had happened with Phoebe. I silently prayed a body had not been found.
“Mum, what is it?” I said, wrapping my arm around her back. She didn’t seem to notice I was there at first and then suddenly, with the feel of another’s flesh against hers, she snapped out of it and looked at me.
“Phoebe,” she whispered under her breath.
“What about her?” I said.
“They found her. She’s alive.” I felt my knees quiver and sink in together, and a policeman offered his hand to keep me upright but I just fell gladly on to the floor, my head spinning. My sister really was coming home.