Game Girls by Judy Waite Read Free Book Online

hedge to avoid the spray, seeing at the last
moment that it is Fern with her mum. Neither of
them see her.
    Courtney thinks about the Dress Agency
dress again, and decides she is glad she didn't get
Alix anything over the top. Things like that are
a kind of blackmail. I give you the best present I
can think of. You stay my friend through thick
and thin.
    Things to do with Fern have always
annoyed her. She was never part of the bullying
– not even at primary school when she was
arguably young enough not to know better –
but she never stopped it. Blind-eyed, head in
sand, she'd always walked by on the other side.
    That oh-so-sweet, little girl, please-take-care-of-me
face. But it was more than that – it
was the way she always walked about with her
mum and dad, holding hands, linking arms.
Hugs and goodbyes in the playground.
    Her look screamed 'please take care of me'
but she didn't need it.
    And those children that did need it – they
probably never screamed out a look at anyone.
    It is as she turns the corner into her own
road that she first hears the car. It has slowed
down behind her, keeping pace.
    She quickens her step and it seems to speed
up – just enough – keeping the same distance
behind. Courtney won't let herself run. Don't
lose control. Don't lose control. Get your
mobile out. Let the bastard see you're making
contact with someone. And then – oh help. She
hasn't got her mobile. It's upstairs in the neatly
packed bag next to Alix's bed, along with the
overall she's going to need for Easi Shop
tomorrow.
    She wants to cross over, so she's not on the
driver's side, but she doesn't want to risk
stepping out in front of the car.
    She keeps walking. Her heart hammers at
full speed.
    Just past the first bend she comes to the
phone box.
    This is supposed to be what Mum calls a
'respectable' area, but it's still never safe from
'drunken yob riff-raff' – and the phone box is
always the top choice for attack. Now, tonight,
the glass is all shattered as usual, the panes a
crazing of tiny fractured lines. Crystal beads
litter the pavement.
    But the light is still on in there, and the
handset is on its cradle. It's got to be worth a
chance. She pulls at the door, keeping her back
against it so it doesn't shut, and edges in.
    Her hands shake. She bangs on the buttons.
999. Nothing. The phone is dead and outside,
just slightly ahead now, the car has stopped.
She'll have to bluff it. Scream for help down
the dead mouthpiece anyway.
    She sounds out silent words. Yes, please.
Norwood Avenue. No, that's fine, I'll wait
here.
    The phone booth smells disgusting. Urine.
    The car dims its lights.
    Dad makes a fuss about things like this, on
his council meetings. Phone boxes not
working. Streetlamps out. Her dad, Saviour of
Cove End.
    On the shelf underneath the handset,
someone has wedged a card.
Jasmine.
    For ALL your pleasures.
    07789 9988 XX.
    The card has got damp and is curled on the
corner, the last numbers blotted away.
    Courtney stares at it for a moment.
    The car door closes quietly. Footsteps.
    She talks properly now. Loudly. 'Yes, it's a
white car – a hatchback. PGR 7—'
    There is a knock on the window behind her,
a small tap.
    Courtney turns slowly. This is it. This is
how it starts. Or ends. She tenses, ready to
bolt. Ready to fight. 'Don't you dare try to—'
    A middle-aged lady with prim neat curls
stares out from behind very round goldfish-bowl
glasses. 'I'm so sorry, my dear – I hope I
haven't frightened you, but I'm nearly out of
petrol. Is there a station nearby? An all-night
one? I could probably manage a couple more
miles on what I've got, but it would be dreadful
to be stranded on a night like this. Terrible
weather, isn't it? I'm barely able to see where
I'm going.'
    Courtney is still shaking. 'Texaco should be
open,' she manages to croak. 'Just turn left at
the end of this road and it's about half a mile.'
    'Thank you, dear.'
    The woman is gone, back in her car,
crawling away as if going slowly