The Trouble with Perfect Page 6

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Beatrice said, innocently dropping the plastic bag under Violet’s nose.

  The watch was Boy’s. He’d gotten it as a birthday present from Macula. Violet felt sick, and steadied herself against the table.

  “Do you recognize the watch, Violet?” Beatrice probed. “There’s something very familiar about it, don’t you think? It’s as if I’ve seen it before. They found it on the handlebars of Lucy’s bike, and Conor’s bag was beside them.”

  “Yes, you’re right, Beatrice,” Madeleine said. “Lucy has indeed confirmed that it is her bike. Some good news, in all of this mess.”

  “I’ve never seen the watch before, Beatrice, but I’m not good at noticing things,” Violet lied.

  “I notice everything. Mam says I’m like a magpie for anything that’s shiny,” Beatrice said, locking eyes with Violet.

  Violet looked away. “Well, you’re just great, Beatrice!” she snapped sarcastically.

  “I’m going to find Boy and ask him if he recognizes the watch. I’m like Sherlock Holmes, Mam says. I’ve a nose for mystery, and I’m always right!” Beatrice continued. “It’s not nice to lie, Violet!”

  Why couldn’t Beatrice just leave things alone? She was forever trying to get people into trouble – like it was her job, or something. But maybe this time she was right. It was Boy’s watch, after all; it proved he was involved somehow. Maybe somebody needed to say something, since Violet couldn’t bring herself to.

  Violet hated lying. Her dad said it was one of the worst things a person could do, and that she’d never get in trouble if she told the truth, no matter how bad. But she couldn’t tell on Boy – this was his truth, and he needed to own up to it himself.

  “Everything okay, girls?” Madeleine interrupted, glancing at the pair.

  “Oh yes, Mrs Nunn,” Beatrice replied politely.

  Then she turned on her heels, flicked her red mane and strode back across the green.

  “How about you, Violet?” Madeleine enquired. “You’re looking at that watch a lot. Do you recognize it?”

  Violet’s hands trembled. Quickly, she shoved them into her pockets and shook her head.

  “No,” she mumbled, then turned and walked away.

  Violet had to find Boy before Beatrice did. If she could persuade him to own up to everything, he might not get in as much trouble. He needed to tell the truth – whatever that was.

  “Violet,” her dad panted, reaching her, Rose just behind him. “Stop running away like that, without telling us! Are you okay? You’re white as a ghost, pet.”

  “I’m fine,” she said dismissively.

  “What was that about with Madeleine?”

  “Nothing!”

  “You’re shaking!” her mother said, wide-eyed.

  “Stop it, Mam!” Violet snapped, edging away. “It’s just this place!”

  What she’d said was partially true. Her head was racing with all sorts of terrible thoughts.

  She scanned the estate, looking for Boy. There was a huge crowd on the far side of the green, searching houses and back gardens. He didn’t appear to be among them.

  She turned around and surveyed the houses on the other side, and spotted him. He was standing on the sparse grass of a house a little way away, staring at the weather-worn door.

  Violet took a deep breath and tried to stay calm. It was strange, feeling nervous about talking to her friend – her best friend ever. At least, that’s what she’d thought he was, only a few days before.

  But just as she was about to walk towards him, Boy disappeared inside the house.

  She followed, jumping the low wall into the garden, then hesitated before pushing open the door.

  The house was quiet. The only sound was the thump of her heart.

  She could hear Rose calling her, outside.

  Violet looked round the concrete-grey ground floor, but there was no sign of Boy. A sudden chill engulfed her as she checked up the dark stairwell, its neglected wooden steps patterned by watermarks. She could see the plastic sheeting billow in the window cavity upstairs.

  A memory wrapped around her.

  She’d climbed inside the top window of a house just like this one before. It was the day she’d rescued Boy from George Archer, her first time in the Ghost Estate. She remembered her heart pounding as she crawled across the landing and found him tied up with a leash. She remembered the Watcher, how he’d mounted the stairs to check on Boy and how, in a panic, Violet pushed open a door on the landing and was saved by Macula.

  Could this be the same house?

  Forgetting her mission to find Boy, Violet climbed the stairs. Everything felt a little too familiar. She reached the landing, and without thinking, turned right, followed her feet to the door and turned the handle. The door brushed open over the deep-red carpet now greyed by dust. She stepped inside.

  The familiar mahogany writing desk was on the far side of the room in front of her, with Macula’s chair empty beside it. Everything was exactly how she remembered it.

  Violet walked across to the desk. A single piece of dusty paper rested on its wooden surface. One of Macula’s letters – there’d been hundreds of them before.

  Her beautiful handwriting traced elegantly across the mottled cream paper.

  Dear Boys,

  I sat and thought of you today. There wasn’t a moment in twenty-four hours where you were not all of my thoughts. My fragile mind holds on to your sounds, your smell. You are my world, and though my wings are clipped, you both allow me to fly…

  The letter seemed so sad. It was written from another time, a time when Macula was on her own, her husband and son lost.

  At first, Violet had thought Macula cowardly. She’d given up her only child, Boy, to the orphanage and surrendered herself to the Archer brothers, becoming their prisoner for twelve years. Though the room wasn’t locked, she never left it.

  Violet asked her mam once if she would ever do something like that.

  “For you, I would,” she’d answered. Rose said it took huge courage to give up a child in order to protect them. She said a mother’s love was so strong that keeping Boy would have been a much easier, but selfish, option.

  “What Macula did was selfless,” her mother told her. “She did it to protect her son from the Archer brothers.”

  Until that point, Violet had never thought about it like that before.

  “Being nosy, again?”

  She jumped, and Macula’s letter slipped from her grasp.

  “Boy!” she gasped.

  Drawn into her memories, she’d forgotten she was meant to be looking for him.

  “You scared the life out of me!”

  Boy was sitting on the carpet, his back against the wardrobe – the one Violet had hidden inside when the Watcher came knocking last year.

  “Why didn’t you say anything when I walked in?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Because I didn’t want to talk to you. I thought you might leave without noticing me, but you were taking ages!”

  “Oh…okay. Anyway, I wasn’t being nosy,” she said, looking for something to say.

  “What would you call it, then?”

  “I was just…I was just…”

  “Just being nosy!” Boy was blunt.

  “Fine,” Violet snapped. “Then you were just being creepy, not telling me you were there. Still sneaking around, hoping I won’t see you!”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Your watch was on the handlebars of Lucy’s bike. They found it by Conor’s school bag, in the estate. Madeleine has it on the table outside and Beatrice is going to tell on you.”

  “Tell on me?” Boy’s eyes were piercing. “I had nothing to do with it! I lost my watch a few days ago.”

  “So you’re saying someone put it there on purpose?”

  “I don’t know, Violet, you seem to be the one with all the answers.”

  “But I saw you with Conor! Please, you have to own up to it. It’s t
he only way to avoid getting into more trouble. Dad says the truth—”

  “I don’t care what your dad says!”

  Boy looked away and ran his fingers roughly over the red carpet, making lines in the dust.

  “You can tell me,” she encouraged him, trying to hide the upset in her voice, “no matter what happened. I know you wouldn’t do anything bad on purpose.”

  “On purpose? I’ve done nothing, Violet! Why won’t you believe me? I went straight home after school that day.”

  “You didn’t. I followed you both down the street to the footbridge. I saw you hand Conor the bike. I’m not making it up! It was you, the same as you’re here now, lying to my face. You’re meant to be my best friend,” she said, louder than intended.

  “And you’re meant to be mine.”

  The pair stayed silent for a bit, leaving a sharp tension in the air, then Boy stood up and walked out into the hall.

  Violet wanted to say something, anything, but she couldn’t. Why wouldn’t he just tell her the truth? Boy had to be in some sort of trouble.

  Her body shook as he stomped down the stairs and banged the front door, rattling the half-finished house.

  Violet cried.

  Then she waited for her eyes to dry before rejoining her parents and the search outside. They checked out every inch of the Ghost Estate, but by late evening there was still no sign of Conor or any clue as to what might have happened to him.

  Her dad stayed behind to keep looking, as Violet and her mam trudged out of the estate towards home. Passing back through the pillars, relief flooded her body and most of her worries floated away on the evening breeze.

  She still felt sick, though – sick at the thought of losing her best friend.

  It had started to drizzle, the next morning. The clouds that gathered over Town were finally releasing some of their moisture, as Violet pedalled to school feeling very anxious. The pit in her stomach had grown overnight. Beatrice must have told on Boy by now.

  She was early and waited at the gate, hoping to catch a glimpse of either one of them, to find out what had happened. By the time the bell rang, neither Boy nor Beatrice had arrived. It wasn’t unusual for Boy, but Beatrice was never late.

  The pit grew even bigger – there had to be something up.

  “Violet Brown, I’m speaking to you!” Mrs Moody called across the classroom as Violet scribbled some ideas in her notebook.

  Snapped out of her terrible theories, she looked up.

  “Have you spoken to Boy Archer today? Will he be joining us?”

  “Ahem, I don’t know, Mrs Moody. I haven’t seen him. Maybe he’s sick?” Violet shrugged, trying to act normal.

  “My dad says he’s sick in the head,” somebody sniggered behind her.

  “And has anyone seen Beatrice this morning?” their teacher asked, now looking concerned.

  Everyone remained silent and a ripple of fear swam through the room. Violet could hear it in the whispers of those around her.

  No one was allowed outside at lunchtime. Mrs Moody had said it was because of a burst pipe, but Violet didn’t see any water in the yard as she looked out the window. Teachers whispered secretly to each other as they popped in and out of the classroom. Unlike Beatrice, Violet didn’t need a Sherlock Holmes nose to figure out something was up.

  When the bell rang to signal the end of the day, Violet raced from the classroom. She needed to get home, quickly, to see if her parents had heard anything.

  Throngs of parents crowded round the school gates, grabbing their kids in a panic. They huddled in groups, whispering above their children’s heads, just like the teachers. Why did adults always seem to think that kids had no ears? Violet pushed her way past them.

  There was a strange tension in the air – people seemed unusually angry. Violet felt it too as she elbowed through the crowd and climbed onto her bike.

  Town seemed strangely empty as she cycled home.

  “Mind where you’re going, Violet!” Mr Hatchet said, a little impatiently. The butcher was perched halfway up a ladder. Violet swerved quickly to avoid a collision.

  Mr Hatchet was about to attach a poster of Beatrice Prim to the lamp post, above a poster of Conor Crooked. Beatrice was smiling, a picture of perfection.

  “You shouldn’t be out on your own, Violet,” the butcher huffed. “Did Eugene not pick you up? He’s a head like a sieve, that man! If you wait a minute, I’ll just hang this and drop you home.”

  “Oh no, I’m…I’m fine cycling,” Violet stammered, still staring at the poster. “Why are you putting a picture of Beatrice up there?”

  “Didn’t you hear? I thought all of Town knew by now,” Mr Hatchet replied. “She’s disappeared, just like Conor Crooked. An awful thing. It’s strange times for this Town, strange times indeed!”

  Violet’s mind was spinning. “What do you mean? Beatrice is missing?”

  “She didn’t come home yesterday after the search. It’s an awful business, terrible really.”

  Beatrice didn’t come home? She was going to talk to Boy, she’d told Violet that in the Ghost Estate. She’d been going to confront him about the watch, and now she was missing too. He couldn’t have… He wouldn’t have done anything?

  Violet felt faint, and reached out to steady herself against the lamp post.

  “I…I better go, Mr Hatchet,” she mumbled, pushing down heavily on her pedals. “Mam will be worried.”

  “Oh no, wait there, Violet. I can’t let you go off alone!”

  “I’m fine, I promise,” she called over her shoulder.

  The darkening sky rumbled as the rain fell lightly around the streets.

  Violet’s heart thumped. Her legs took on a life of their own and she whizzed down Splendid Road. Her mind raced and time blurred.

  Just as she turned the corner onto her driveway, a hulking figure stepped out onto the gravel in front of her, blocking the path. She snapped on her brakes and skidded to a halt.

  The man was large, slightly stooped and shabbily dressed. He was half-hidden by the shadow of the trees that lined the driveway and Violet couldn’t see his face properly.

  He grunted and moved towards her, limping as he dragged one leg behind him. Violet froze, petrified. The man was just upon her when she sprung back to life.

  He grabbed her sleeve. She squirmed and tried to struggle free as a horrible stench engulfed her. She opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. His arm was around her chest, locking Violet tight against him. In the frenzy, she caught sight of his face.

  He seemed barely human. His skin looked like it had melted in places, revealing raw bone beneath. His eyes were too big and protruded from his face. They were rimmed by flaps of thin skin, like petals, that closed when he blinked. One eye drooped down from its socket and, with his free hand, the monster picked up the eyeball and shoved it back in place. His eyes looked exactly like eye plants, the very ones that grew in the beds around Town!

  Violet wriggled harder to free herself.

  The monstrous man held tight. She kicked out as hard as she could. Something cracked and he collapsed to one side. Violet bit into his arm to loosen his grip. The skin was wet and soggy, coming away in her teeth. She gagged and spat it out. Her stomach churned, the smell engulfed her, and the world began to spin.

  The edges of her vision faded.

  Then Boy was there, standing in the entrance of her driveway. He was shouting something, but she couldn’t make it out. His voice sounded far away, as though Violet were underwater. He was running towards them now, yelling at the disgusting man to stop. Boy would save her, she knew it. She knew he was her friend.

  Then everything went black.

  Violet’s head hurt. She opened her eyes and dark dots danced through her vision. Her sight was fuzzy. Slowly, a flowery lampshade hanging above her head came into focus.

  She was in bed, in her room. She looked under the covers and discovered she was wearing her pyjamas. What had happened? Had it all been a dream?


  She tried to sit up, but everything spun and her stomach was queasy. She lay back down for a few moments and steadied herself, before gingerly getting out of bed.

  A thin line of light was cast across her carpet from between her almost-closed curtains. She made her way to the window and peered outside. The clouds were dark and she could just see a corner of the sun poking out from behind them.

  What time was it?

  As she walked onto the landing, muffled sounds of a radio reached up from the bottom of the stairs. She held tight to the banisters and slowly made her way down.

  “Violet!” her mam said, rushing over as she entered the kitchen. “You’re awake. You shouldn’t be up!”

  Rose pulled out a chair for Violet to sit on.

  “How’re you feeling, pet?”

  “Um, I don’t know,” Violet replied. “What time is it?”

  “Saturday lunchtime, pet. You’ve been out for the count all night and half the day. You had us worried sick!”

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “I was going to ask you the same thing. You didn’t come home after school and, what with these kidnappings… Well, I don’t like to think about what was going through my head, pet. I could have killed your father for not collecting you. He promised he would.”

  “But how did I get home?” Violet interrupted.

  “Well, I went looking for you, when you didn’t arrive back after school. I found you unconscious at the bottom of our driveway.” Her mother felt Violet’s forehead. “Did you faint, pet? Were you feeling unwell? Do you remember anything?”

  Violet filtered through the fog of her mind. She remembered something. The hair on her arms rose.

  “I was attacked, Mam, by a…by a…monster!”

  “What?” Rose turned ghostly white, and she grabbed the back of a kitchen chair.

  “But Boy…Boy saved me. Where is he? Is he here?”

  Her mam sat down.

  “Let’s not talk about Boy now,” Rose said. Her voice had changed. “Just tell me what happened. Just as you remember it, Violet.”

  “Is Boy okay? Why can’t we talk about him? The man must have kidnapped Beatrice and Conor, and he was trying to kidnap me too, except Boy stopped him. Please tell me he’s okay, Mam?”