“You were sleepwalking last night,” Rico said. “Do you do that a lot?”
Fran’s heart sank.
“Where did I go?”
“I got you back to bed before you managed to unlock the door,” Rico answered. “I’ll ask Carson if we can get the lock changed, or get a bolt or something. It’s probably not a great idea if you can wander off anywhere in your sleep.”
Nodding, Fran bit her lip. I need Brookie back. On the pretext that it was getting cold outside, she’d taken to wearing a hoodie to bed. It made her feel marginally safer around Rico, as she couldn’t sleep with her chest compressor on without severe health repercussions.
It helped a lot that Rico was a bit awkward about sharing a room with her. He usually got up half an hour before she did and went across to the main school for breakfast, so Fran often found herself on her own when she woke up, and she was able to get changed in peace. In the evenings, he tended to stay in the common room until after Fran’s lights out, and if he was around before then, he largely stuck to his side of the room. This had resulted in several rather awkward, stagnated conversations that usually ended with “I’m going to take a shower”.
Part of Fran wished he was more talkative and around a little more, but the distance he put between them suited her fine and lessened her anxiety.
One week. Fran breathed out steadily. So far, so good.
“See you later,” Rico told her as he passed through her side of the room with his violin across his shoulder. Fran smiled and waved at him, then ducked her head, flushing. Who waves when somebody leaves the room?
As soon as he was gone, Fran slid her chest compressor on and zipped it up. Conrad had been right: it was getting a bit tight, and she probably did need a size up. She sat on the edge of her bed for a few moments, trying to take deep breaths. When she was sure she was going to be able to move around without getting lightheaded, she stood up and headed for the cupboard.
The door opened.
Fran whipped around and shrieked.
“Oh my God!” Arthur covered his eyes. “Sorry, Frankie. I didn’t realise you were changing.”
Fran put a hand to her chest, trying to get over the mini heart attack.
“Jesus,” she said faintly. “Knock next time?”
Arthur nodded. “Maybe you should lock the door as well?”
Fran blinked. “Whoops.”
Arthur lowered his hand and looked everywhere except at Fran, his face burning red.
“Yeah. Whoops. Don’t want you walked in on by somebody without one of these awesome watches.”
Fran attempted a smile and failed.
“By the way, Aaron also wants one of these watches,” Arthur said. “He seems to think it’s part of being Frankie’s fan club and he wants in.”
This time, Fran did manage a smile. “I’m not telling him I’m a girl.”
“He’d be heartbroken,” Arthur agreed. “Anyway, do you have any painkillers? My arm still absolutely wrecks and matron’s not in yet.”
“Sure. Just check in the bathroom.”
“And seriously,” Arthur said as he crossed the room, “if you’re going to leave the bedroom door unlocked, at least get changed in the cupboard.”
When Fran went downstairs to head out for her first lesson, she found Mathilda and Brookie talking to each other in the entrance hall. Brookie looked up with a grin.
“I hear Arthur embarrassed himself this morning.”
“He walked in on some poor girl changing,” Fran said. “Mathilda, what are you doing here?”
Mathilda saluted. “Personal bodyguard, at your service.”
Shoulders slumping, Fran shot a withering look at Brookie. “You didn’t.”
“Hey, she offered.”
“We’re joking,” Mathilda assured her quickly. “I needed to ask Brookie about something, and seeing that—” she pointed at the glass double doors, against which numerous girls had pressed their faces, “— we concluded it would be safest for us both to talk inside.”
“Mathilda, you’re the one who’s going to need a bodyguard.”
Mathilda sniffed. “I’ll manage, but I think we’re going to be late to class.”
Brookie stretched languidly. “Enjoy, suckers! Double morning free here.”
The girls’ response was unanimous. “Oh, f*ck off.”
The girls had barely gone before Brookie’s phone started ringing. He wandered through to the boot room for some privacy before picking up.
“Bruno? What is it?”
“There’s a problem,” his friend said quickly. “I got a message from Freddie quarter of an hour ago, but it’s all over the tabloids as well – apparently you enabled Freddie and Frankie to meet up at your last red carpet.”
“Yes,” said Brookie. “What about it?”
“It appears that one of your fans recognised Freddie from a recent news broadcast and went to the media about it.”
“What’s wrong with that? He can be a fan if he wants to be.”
“They aren’t focussing on him being a fan. They’re focussing on your new foster sister who sprang out of nowhere and the fact that she and Freddie seem to know each other so well.”
Brookie froze. “They don’t think it’s Frankie, do they?”
There was a sigh on the other end of the phone. “As far as I can read between the lines of all the official stuff, they just think that Theresa might know Fran, but there are a few things online that seem to think that either you’re involved in helping the search for Pelham, or that your ‘sister’ is somehow related to Freddie and Fran, but it’s not looking good.”
Brookie swore under his breath.
“Just thought it would be good to warn you,” Bruno said. “And hey, shouldn’t you be in class?”
“No, I have frees this morning,” Brookie said distractedly. D*mn. This could be more troublesome than I thought.
It was. After three days of journalists and fans trying to talk to him about it, Brookie came back to the boarding house to find two policemen waiting there for him. They introduced themselves as Aidan and Malcolm.
“Hi,” said Brookie shortly before turning to Aidan. “We’ve met before. You seemed to think my roommate was a serial killer.”
He could sense that the police felt they’d been put on the back foot, which was exactly what he’d wanted.
Malcolm scratched his nose. “Er, yes, but we’re here today about something different.”
“Yes, we wanted to ask you about your sister,” Aidan cut in.
“Which one?” asked Brookie. “I have nine.”
“Theresa, I believe.”
Brookie looked from one to the other, feigning confusion. “Couldn’t you ask her whatever you want to ask yourself?”
“When we called at your house, a boy called Bertie told us that she’d been moved to a different family. When we called that family, it appeared that she’d gone into a coma.”
Brookie was certain that Conrad had stuck his oar in somewhere.
“I wasn’t told this,” he said in alarm, reaching for his phone. “She was perfectly well last week.”
“Do you speak to her regularly?” Malcolm asked.
Brookie shrugged. “About once a week. I’m not really supposed to since she’s with a different family now, but it’s a bit of a wrench.”
“Yes, it did appear that you were rather close,” Malcolm agreed. “After all, she’s only the second sister you’ve taken to a red carpet.”
“True,” Brookie acknowledged. “So, what do you want to know?”
Aidan took over again. “We’re currently working on the case of Frances Pelham.”
“That girl who’s missing, presumed dead but probably now alive because of gang stuff?”
“Yes. Is there any chance that Theresa could have known the Pelham family?”
Brookie just looked at them both, nonplussed.
“I find it bizarre,” said Malcolm. “I was Frances’ bodyguard for some time, and I never met Theresa.”
“Maybe they met after Frances went missing?” Brookie suggested. “Theresa might not have known it was Frances Pelham.”
“Did she ever mention meeting a girl who might have been Frances?”
Brookie merely raised an eyebrow. “Pelham’s constantly on national news coverage, and one of the boys living on my gallery may or may not have seen her in one of the nearby towns. Do you really think I wouldn’t have come forward with the information if Theresa had told me anything that would lead me to suspect she knew Frances Pelham?”
The policemen exchanged glances.
“Do you know how she knew Frederick Pelham, then?” asked Aidan.
Brookie shrugged. “Haven’t the foggiest. I was a little surprised when it turned out they knew each other. The chances of something like that happening are extremely slim. Maybe they used to date at some point? They’re a similar sort of age.”
Aidan held his gaze with narrowed eyes, clearly trying to determine whether or not he was lying. Eventually, he turned to Malcolm with a sigh.
“This is so frustrating,” he muttered. “It feels like she’s trying to hide from us.”
Ya think? Brookie remained pokerfaced.
“Sorry I can’t really help,” he said. “Have you asked Frederick how he knows Theresa?”
“He said she knew him through Frances.”
Brookie frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. Are you sure he’s not hiding something from you?”
Aidan looked puzzled for a moment, but Malcolm leant forward on his chair. “Freddie has been distraught by this whole affair. He’s been the one who’s provided us with the most help and the most leads. He became very reserved and bitter after his sister vanished.”
Brookie was hard-pressed not to express his surprise. It didn’t tie in at all with the Freddie he knew. That boy must be walking the tightrope superbly.
“Freddie was so close to his sister that it would be very odd if he wasn’t doing all he could to try to get her back,” Aidan agreed. “He did seem to feel it acutely that his sister had vanished without even telling him anything. It was one of the reasons we were initially afraid that she might be dead, because it’s very unlike her to go somewhere without letting her brother know.”
Well, that explains why she almost got shot because of him.
Clapping his hands together, Aidan got to his feet. “Well, thank you. I think we’ve taken enough of your time.”
The instant the police left, Brookie went in search of Fran. He found her in her room with Rico, who was playing the guitar. They both looked up as he let himself in and Rico stopped singing, although he continued to strum at the guitar and hum.
“Frankie, I need a quick word,” he said.
Looking a little annoyed, Fran slipped off her bed and followed him out of the room.
“What is it?” she asked in a low voice, pausing when one of the twins appeared in the corridor. Seeing it was Isaac, she continued. “Has something happened?”
“The police came.”
Fran’s face went white. “Do they want to see me?”
“No, thankfully. They wanted to see me, but they were asking about you because they think that my foster sister Theresa has links with Frances Pelham.”
Fran’s jaw dropped in horror.
“Don’t worry too much,” he told her. “Freddie, Bruno and Conrad appear to be running rings around them, but I’m just worried about how long it’ll last. When they tried to interview Theresa, Conrad managed to direct them to a comatose girl in hospital, so that’s a dead end for them. The two people they seemed to be plying for information were me and Freddie.”
“Freddie’s not going to tell them anything,” Fran said immediately. Brookie smiled and patted her on the shoulder.
“That was pretty clear from what they told me. Freddie would be a pretty incredible double agent, in my opinion. They seemed convinced he wasn’t lying to them.”
Fran smiled weakly.
“That said, one of them did mention that it felt like you were actually trying to hide yourself from them.”
“Took them long enough to figure that out,” Fran muttered.
“Yes, but what if it leads them to suspect that Freddie is lying to them? And what if those stalkers work it out as well? It might make them go to ground, or at least pull out of the police for a bit. We still don’t know why they want to kill you. Did you do something that might have annoyed them?”
After a moment or two, Fran started worrying her bottom lip.
“The only thing that comes to mind is the gang scuffles,” she admitted. “But it doesn’t make sense, and the men who followed me around weren’t ones I recognised from any of the gangs, and they looked older than most people in gangs tend to be. Well, unless they’re into drug dealing, but still.”
There was a very awkward silence.
“Oh,” said Fran, “since Bruno came up, why did he decide he wanted to help out with this?”
Brookie let out a sudden snort of laughter. “Knowing Bruno, because he thought it would be an adventure. He’s about as normal as Conrad is. He’s still trying to re-establish and rehabilitate himself after hospital, so it’s probably something fun until he’s well enough to continue his education or continue acting.”
“And what happened to his arm?” Fran went on. “He has a really big scar all the way up to his elbow. Is that from the car crash?”
Brookie pursed his lips. “You know, if he hasn’t told you about that, I don’t feel comfortable doing it in his place. I don’t think he’d want me to.”
“Is it not from the crash, then?”
Brookie shook his head briefly. “No. If he wants to tell you, he will, but I severely doubt it. I don’t think he’s actually told anybody about that scar.”
“Oh.” Fran was confused. Didn’t Brookie just imply that he knew the story behind the scar? “He seemed to have a bit of a mood swing when I brought it up. Usually he’s really cheerful, but he suddenly seemed really serious.”
“Bruno’s just like that. You’ll get used to it.”
“Oh.” Fran bit her lip again. “Oh, and Brookie, what does sa…” she paused, trying to remember the words, “what does oppa sarang hay oh mean?”
Exasperated, Brookie suddenly turned her around and pushed her back towards her dorm door. “Oh God. Too much K-pop for you. Go back to Rico and listen to some native music.”
“What does it mean, though?” Fran persisted. “Bruno told me to say it to him the next time I see him.”
“Say it to Rico instead,” Brookie told her firmly. “If he understands Korean, it’ll kill two birds with one stone – you’ll have just confessed to him and come out as a girl.”