The Girl Who Wasn't There by Karen McCombie Read Free Book Online Page B

that’s why I’d love our lovely dad to be loved by more people than just his kids.
    â€œYeah, yeah, whatever,” Clem says gruffly, but she’s passing me a tissue that she’s found in her bag. “So … you haven’t done your freaked-out zombie face for a day or so. School getting less awful?”
    OK, my big sis is being halfway nice to me, but it doesn’t seem like she’s in the mood to handle a kid sister in tears, so I guess that’s why she’s changing the subject.
    â€œYeah, a bit,” I say, blowing my nose and cheering up at the thought of Kat. “I think I might have a friend.”
    â€œYeah? A blind, deaf friend with no taste?” she jokes, but I can tell she’s a little bit pleased for me. “What’s her name?”
    â€œKat – with a ‘K’.”
    â€œUh-huh. And what’s Kat-with-a-K like, then?”
    â€œWell, she’s not in my form class so we haven’t had a chance to hang out that much yet,” I begin, trying to remember if Kat said she was in 8T or 8G. “But she’s really good fun, and I don’t get the feeling she has a best friend at the moment. She’s kind of different too – she’s really pretty but has all this wavy, big hair that she ties back with a scarf like a headband, with a loose big bow here – sort of cute and cool, not like a little kid’s bow, I mean. And today we spent lunchtime hanging out together at Art Club and—”
    â€œWhoa!” says Clem, holding her hand up to stop me in my tracks. “Information overload!”
    â€œSorry,” I say, realizing I’ve been gushing.
    â€œIt’s OK,” Clem replies, leaning back enough now to get her bare feet up on the table. “I guess it’s kind of funny that I know more about your new friend in the space of ten seconds than Dad’s girlfriend in all this time!”
    I grin at her, and Clem grins back. Which feels good.
    â€œSo – without giving me a word-by-word account – what have you and Kat-with-a-K been chatting about?”
    Her face gives nothing away, but I wonder if she’s really asking me whether or not I’ve told Kat about what happened at my last school. Of course, I haven’t, because a) there hasn’t been time yet, and b) I don’t know her well enough to mention something that might make her well wary of me…
    â€œI dunno. Just stuff,” I say, wondering if I should come out and tell Clem what we have been talking about.
    â€œHey, don’t go coy on me! I’ve been thirteen too. Is Kat-with-a-K filling you in with all the gossip about everyone at school?”
    Clem is so relaxed, so friendly, that I relax and feel friendly towards her too.
    â€œNot really,” I say. “It’s just … well, there’s supposed to be this ghost of a Victorian girl that haunts the school and me and Kat are thinking that we’ll try and find out all about—”
    â€œNope! You know this sort of thing creeps me out,” Clem interrupts sharply, her feet disappearing from the table, her hand back up in front of me in a very definite “stop”. “Don’t want to hear this, thanks!”
    â€œBut—” I try to continue, watching her fiddling with her headphones, ready to block me out.
    â€œMaisie, it’s bad enough that I have to live in this grotty, creepy dump, beside that spooky old school,” she says firmly. “I don’t want to hear any ghost stories. OK?”
    I don’t even get to say OK – or explain about the house not being creepy since Mr Butterfield didn’t even die here – because the Arctic Monkeys are blaring and my sister’s gaze is firmly back on her homework.
    As I stare at her swinging bob, shutting her face off from me like a pair of brown velvet curtains, I think two things…
    Our friendly, sisterly truce lasted about ten whole