Ghosted, page 1
Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
About the Author
Emily Barr worked as a journalist in London but always hankered after a quiet room and a book to write. She went travelling for a year, which gave her an idea for a novel set in the world of backpackers in Asia. This became Backpack, a thriller that won the WHSmith New Talent Award. Her first YA thriller, The One Memory of Flora Banks, has been published in twenty-seven countries and was shortlisted for the YA Book Prize. Emily’s third YA thriller, The Girl Who Came Out of the Woods, was published in 2019 and nominated for the Carnegie Award. Ghosted is her fifth YA novel. Emily lives in Cornwall with her husband and their children.
Follow Emily Barr
on Twitter @emily_barr
and Instagram @emilybarr01
#Ghosted
Books by Emily Barr
THE ONE MEMORY OF FLORA BANKS
THE TRUTH AND LIES OF ELLA BLACK
THE GIRL WHO CAME OUT OF THE WOODS
THINGS TO DO BEFORE THE END OF THE WORLD
GHOSTED
For Craig
Prologue
11 March
Mia was in hospital for a routine operation on her knee, and everyone said it had gone well. On Thursday morning she was still woozy from the anaesthetic and found that she quite enjoyed the enforced bed rest. Hospital tea was surprisingly nice, and the toast was comforting. She had magazines to read. The ward was quiet. It was fine.
Her boyfriend missed her; they hadn’t been living together long and it was still all honeymoon. She knew she’d be home tomorrow and that he’d help her around on her crutches for a week or two, and then everything would be back to normal.
Mia hadn’t been in danger at all, right up until, all of a sudden, she fell asleep and never woke up. Nobody knew why. Her records showed she’d had the right amount of painkillers at the right times, and nothing had given any cause for alarm.
Her family refused an autopsy because the idea was too upsetting. The consultant produced some paperwork and told them that Mia had probably had a heart condition, that this would have happened at some point, and it was just by chance that it had tragically occurred when she was in hospital. It was nobody’s fault: it was one of those things.
Life had to move on without her.
Mia couldn’t move on, though. She wasn’t ready.
1
12 February 2019
‘Wake up.’ He was shaking my shoulder. ‘Get up and get dressed. Time to go. Fresh start.’
I blinked awake and tried to make sense of the words. It was weird for him to be in my room and it was pitch-dark, with just the glow of my clock shining green on his face – 4:52.
I’d been so deeply asleep. Was this a dream? It felt like a dream.
I could smell his cologne, toothpaste and the tea-tree shampoo he used. No, this was real: he really was up and ready to go. And it was 4:52 … 4:53.
My mind caught up. He wasn’t doing this. He couldn’t be.
‘What?’ I said, sitting up. ‘Where?’
‘Don’t worry!’ he said. ‘Everything’s arranged. We’re going, Ariel. I’ll tell you about it in the car.’
I reached for the bedside light, switched it on and looked at him. That manic glint was in his eye. I’d known it would be. He scared me when he was like this. There was no reasoning with him.
‘What about Sasha?’ I asked.
He was wearing a dark blue fleece and his horrible jeans, and there was a bag at his feet. He was serious about this.
‘What about her?’
‘We can’t run away. We –’ I stopped. I knew I wouldn’t be able to say more without crying, and it was a mistake to cry when he was like this. It wound him up.
I’d always managed to avoid these confrontations because Sasha took the heat for me. I swallowed hard as I realized that I was going to have to do a thing I’d never done before. I was going to have to stand up to him.
‘No,’ he said. ‘You’ve got it wrong. We’re not running away. We’re running towards something. A new life. Fresh start. I’ve been wanting to do this for years. You’ve been through enough over the past year, darling. Your sister’s chosen her own path, and that’s up to her. She said she didn’t need us, and that was her call.’
She said she didn’t need you.
I didn’t say that.
She needs me. She needs me very much. She doesn’t have anyone else.
I didn’t say that either. I had never confronted him. That was why I was his favourite.
He saw my paralysis and spoke faster. ‘You need me and I’d never leave you. Never. Sasha’s an adult and she’s made her decision. That has nothing to do with me now. As she said last night, she doesn’t care about my approval and so I don’t care what she does. I’ve got a place to go. A job. A house. A new school for you. We can start again and –’
‘Dad!’ My heart pounded so violently that I thought it was going to knock the house down, but I didn’t speak loudly enough to stop him.
‘– build new lives for ourselves. We deserve to –’
I pulled the duvet up to my chin so he wouldn’t see me trembling. I was so scared of this man. I wasn’t going with him (it was unthinkable) and that meant I needed to do the bravest thing I’d ever done.
He was still speaking, so I summoned every bit of strength and interrupted with as much force as I could manage. ‘Dad, I’m not going with you. Sasha needs me here.’
His eyes were glinting and I had to look away.
‘No,’ he said, trying to duck into my line of sight. When that didn’t work, he took hold of my chin and tilted my head back so I could only look away from him with my eyes. His fingers dug into my skin. ‘It’s all arranged. You can have whatever you want. Clothes. Books. How about a MacBook? You wanted a MacBook, didn’t you?’
Everything inside me longed to concede. This time, though, I couldn’t.
‘I can’t,’ I said, and I swivelled my eyes as far from him as they would go. I saw a spider walking up the wall, its shadow huge in the lamplight.
‘You can.’
‘I can’t leave Sasha. I don’t want to. I’m going to stay here.’
The silence hung there. I forced myself to wait it out. His hand dropped from my chin.
‘Do you mean it?’
I nodded, watching the spider. I heard him exhale in a huge huff. I held my breath. This was where it got dangerous.
Sure enough, he pulled back his fist and punched my bed. Suppressed violence spread through the room. Menace hung static in the air. He could do anything, and we both knew it. He walked over to a wall and punched it hard. Then he strode to the door. He turned at the threshold.
‘Last chance,’ he said, spitting his words so I could almost see them flying towards me. Our eyes met for a few seconds and I looked away.
‘No. I’m staying here,’ I said to the wall, and he left.
I heard him moving around downstairs, and then the door clicked shut and something landed on the doormat with a thud.
I waited for ages for him to come back, but he didn’t. Time stretched on and on, and nothing happened. After a while I put on my dressing gown and fluffy socks and crept downstairs.
He’d left an envelope propped against the kettle with Sasha’s name on the front. There was a note for me next to it, scrawled on a piece of paper from a pad that had To-do List at the top of each page in a stupid font.
A, I expected better of you. You have broken my heart. Call me when you change your mind. If staying you need to call yr school and cancel the email I sent last night. Enjoy life in foster care!!!
The pen had gone through the paper on those last exclamation marks.
I stood at the bay window and pulled back the curtain, my hand making the length of fabric tremble. It was pitch-black out there, with thick clouds covering the stars and the moon, but the street light showed an empty driveway.
He had left. His keys were on the mat, posted back through the letterbox. I pictured him parking round the corner and creeping back to kidnap me.
I turned and screamed.
‘Sorry,’ said my sister, standing blinking in her blue
I hugged her as tightly as I could. She resisted for a moment and then gave in and hugged me back. I didn’t cry. I didn’t cry. She smelled of Sasha and sleep.
‘What’s up?’ she said. ‘What’s he done?’
‘He’s gone,’ I said into her hair (Sasha was four years older than me and maybe four inches shorter too). ‘It might be one of his mind games, but he said he was leaving. He had a bag. The car’s gone. He …’ I didn’t want to tell her this part, but I knew I had to. ‘This next bit’s awful, OK?’
‘Tell me.’
Sasha followed me into the kitchen. I put the kettle on and got out two mugs.
‘He woke me up about an hour ago. Maybe more? Before five. He was all showered and ready. He said I had to get up and go with him.’ My voice cracked, but I carried on.
‘He said it was a fresh start and he’d buy me a MacBook. He said you didn’t need us. When I told him I wasn’t going, he went all cold and stormed off. And now I think he’s actually gone. Look. He put his keys through the letterbox. He left me this.’ I showed her the note. At this point the tears started coming. ‘Am I going to have to go into foster care, Sasha? Am I?’
That part was just beginning to sink in. I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t.
‘Fuck,’ she said. ‘Oh God, Ariel. No, you’re not. Of course you’re not. You’re staying here with me. I’m sure they won’t take you away.’
When she opened her letter, we found it was more coherent than the note he’d scrawled to me. Coherent but psychotic.
I’ve worked it out. You and I don’t need to have any more contact. I’m disappointed in your life choices. You told me to my face that you wished I was dead. I’m not going to stick around in your life any more to be spoken to like that. Enough is enough, Sasha, and I’ve had enough of your bullying. Ariel doesn’t see it, but I do, and that’s why I need to get her away from you.
Stay in this house. The mortgage is paid off. I’ll transfer some money each month for bills. I have no faith in you to look after yourself, let alone another human, and despite what you think of me no grandson of mine is going to live in poverty. That will be the extent of my involvement. Ariel and I will be starting afresh with no contact. This is best.
‘It’s like a divorce,’ Sasha said, putting a peppermint tea bag in a mug. ‘I literally feel like my dad is divorcing me. Paying me enough child support to keep me quiet.’ She looked up and forced a smile. ‘That makes you the record collection or whatever. He wanted to take you, but he couldn’t get you in the car, so he had to leave you behind. He’s right about one thing, though: I did tell him I wished he’d been the one to die. I knew he’d never forgive me, even while I was saying it, but I don’t care. I meant it. I’d love it if he was dead and Mum was still here. So would you.’
I couldn’t quite be as harsh as that, and I certainly didn’t feel strong enough to talk about Mum right now, so I just said, ‘Sure you don’t want a coffee?’
‘No.’ She patted her stomach. ‘No coffee until July. I’ll have a herbal tea and a piece of toast. You have coffee.’
‘I will.’
We were silent while I made the drinks and Sasha put as much bread into the toaster as it would take.
‘You’re not the bully,’ I said because I knew she’d be thinking about that part of Dad’s note. ‘He is. He’s only saying it to make himself feel better.’
‘I know. Hey, Ariel? We can do this. Seriously. I’m not sure we even need to tell anyone that Dad’s gone. Do we?’
We looked at each other. Sasha and I were still feeling our way. Our relationship had changed so much lately, and now it was shifting again.
‘If they found out,’ I said, with only a vague idea of who I meant by they, ‘would they make me go into foster care like Dad said? Or a children’s home? Like Tracy Beaker?’
‘No.’ Her voice was more brave than certain. ‘I’m old enough. And so are you. Sixteen-year-olds can live independently. It’s not like you’re a baby. Plus, there’s going to be an actual baby. If I can have one of those, surely I can keep an eye on you while I’m at it.’
I felt my heart calming. It made sense.
‘Though I don’t trust Dad,’ she added.
I handed her the peppermint tea. I didn’t trust him either.
I brushed my hair and put it into a French plait to make myself appear as wholesome as I could, then sprayed it in place. I made sure my uniform was clean and correct. I didn’t even put on a little bit of mascara like I usually did. When I thought I looked like the girl with the most straightforward home life possible, I went to school early and made myself do a ‘no big deal’ smile as I stopped at the reception desk to try and work out how to delete whatever the hell message my dad might have sent them in the night.
The entrance hall was quiet. There was still the faint smell of overnight cleaning. I knew it would soon be overlaid with Lynx and crisps and sweat. I focused. I had to play this right. I’d hoped to find the computer unattended and hackable, but no such luck.
‘It’s really nothing,’ I said to the woman. ‘My dad’s been struggling a bit this year and he sent something he regrets. We’re absolutely fine, so please do delete the email. No need to read it.’
I watched her write a note on a piece of paper.
‘I don’t think anyone’s been through the inbox this morning,’ she said. ‘What’s your dad’s name? I’ll do a search.’
‘Alex Brown.’
‘Of course. You’re Ariel.’
She looked at me in that way that adults always did since Mum.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘And we’re doing fine. Honestly. Dad’s finding it difficult at times, but Sasha and I are all right. And …’ I paused. It might end up worse if I didn’t flag this up. ‘I think the email might suggest that I’m leaving this school, but I’m not. He didn’t mean it. So please just delete and ignore. He was just a bit confused. Half sleepwalking, you know?’
‘Ooookayyyyy,’ she said in a tone that made me suspect it might not be completely OK. In fact, her OK told me that the very first thing she was going to do when I walked away was search the inbox for my dad’s message, and then she’d probably tell someone else and they would call him.
I texted Izzy:
Where are you? Everything’s gone to shit AGAIN.
2
‘Shut up!’
I reach for the alarm with my eyes closed. The beeping of that clock is the worst sound in the world, except for the sound of the silence after you’ve been murdered.
This is the thought that jolts me awake.
I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. Damp patch. Bigger than it used to be? Maybe. The ceiling is real. Real, real, real.
I turn my head. Yes, this is my bedroom. Clothes on the floor. Books piled on the table. Morning light coming through the blue curtains. My stuff is everywhere. My feet poke out of the end of the bed. I’m at home and this is normal.
I touch my neck. It’s smooth and a bit stubbly. That’s as it should be. I run my fingers through my hair, look at my hands, front and back. Obviously everything’s all right. I am here and alive.
Of course I am.
I’m such a twat.
‘Joe!’
Dad is shouting from downstairs. I sit up and yawn. I poke a leg right out of bed. It’s hairier than it used to be. No shit. Fifteen years old, six feet tall, terrified by a dream. I give myself a shake and try to focus.
‘Joe!’ he yells again. ‘You awake?’
‘Yeah!’ I say, or something like it. I get up and, because I’m only wearing pants, I pull on my dressing gown. Dad insists on seeing us with his own eyes before he goes to work.
I yawn as I open my door, blink at the light and focus on my dad.
He’s standing on the stairs, wearing his jeans and the polo shirt with the name of the nursery embroidered on his chest: BOUNCERS. Yes, he is a male nursery worker, at the age of forty-nine. He’s been doing it for so long that he’s in charge of the place, but really he just goes to work so he can play. I don’t know how he does it, looking after snotty little kids all day, but the thing with Dad is that he’s always happy.
