Free Never Close Your Eyes by Emma Burstall Page A

more.’
    Michael growled. He must be sick of hearing it. He started jiggling his leg up and down. Something flashed in the corner of Freya’s screen. Cal?
    â€˜Why don’t you get us a biscuit?’ she said brightly. ‘There’re chocolate ones in the cupboard.’
    Michael frowned. ‘Mum’s downstairs with Bill. She won’t let me.’
    â€˜Tell her they’re for me,’ Freya suggested. ‘I need them to help me concentrate on my homework.’
    Michael perked up. ‘I’ll get the packet.’
    â€˜Good idea.’ Food always worked with him.
    She waited until he’d left the room to check her laptop. ‘Cal Barton’ it said in the little box in the corner. Her heart fluttered.
    hey, it’s me , she read. why was yr day crap?
    She sighed with pleasure. Thank God she had Cal. Every day she worried that he’d go off her like the others and every evening he came back to her. She could tell him everything and he never took the piss. Most of the boys she hung out with hated talking about feelings and stuff like that, but not Cal.
    She’d never met him but she felt as if she had. He was the same age as her, but he didn’t live in London and knew nothing about her school or friends, which was a good thing. Funny that his parents were separated, too. And his dad kept coming round making his mum upset so he knew exactly what Freya was going on about. She began to tell him all about Gemma and Abigail.
    fucking losers , he wrote. ur so much better than them. u shouldnt let them get to u then they’ll have won.
    She talked a bit about Mum and Dad, too. Then they got on to music and clothes.
    wot u wearing? he asked. bet u look buff? (Sexy.)
    She smiled. sorry, just my school uniform , she replied. wot bout u?
    school uniform , he wrote back. gonna get a new haircut at the weekend. shorter on the sides and sort of spikey on top .
    cool , she said. It sounded nice. She wished she could see it.
    got to go , he said. Pir. (Parent in room.)
    ok , she said, hak. (Hugs and kisses.)
    hak. cul8r. (See you later), he replied.
    Nic plodded upstairs, spilling tea as she went. ‘Bugger.’
    She knew that she was drunk again and wished she’d never opened that second bottle of wine. Or the first, for that matter. She knocked on Alan’s door.
    â€˜Come in.’ He sounded distracted, nose buried in some tedious spreadsheet or other, no doubt.
    She turned the knob and pushed open the door with her foot. ‘Whoops!’ Brown tea sploshed on to the cream carpet. ‘I brought you some tea,’ she said. ‘I’ll clean it up.’ She bent down and dabbed at the wet stain with the corner of her skirt.
    Alan looked irritated. ‘Just put it there,’ he said, pointing to the top of the grey filing cabinet beside his desk. She rose carefully, using her hands to steady herself. He didn’t seem to notice that she was having trouble getting from one side of the room to the other without tripping.
    â€˜There,’ she said, pleased that the mug was still half full. She turned and smiled at him, willing him to speak to her. ‘What are you doing?’
    She peered over his shoulder. He seemed to be writing an email or something. She noticed he’d typed something weird. She caught sight of the letters c and u and the number 8.
    â€˜What does that mean?’ she asked.
    â€˜Nothing. Accountancy-speak,’ he said vaguely, pressing ‘send’. He logged off. ‘I’m finished for the night,’ he sighed, sitting back in his seat and stretching. ‘Think I’ll watch TV for a bit downstairs to unwind. You go to bed.’
    Her shoulders drooped. ‘You’re always working.’
    He got up and turned his laptop off, winding up the leads and putting the whole thing into its case, ready for the morning. Then he pecked her on the cheek, smiling. ‘I’m sorry, we’re having a