I Have No Secrets. Penny Joelson
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.
‘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