Alex in Wonderland Read online

  For Bella

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Acknowledgements

  Back Ad

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE

  They show me into the small, windowless room and the older guy must see the look of horror on my face because he says, “You do know you’re not under arrest, right?” and I just smile and nod because yes, I do know that, but at the same time this room is somewhat scary. I’d assumed how they show it on TV was all over the top, for dramatic effect, but it turns out it’s not. The room is bare, with grubby white walls and four plastic chairs around a small table with metal legs and a wooden top, into which someone has scraped the words “EAT YOUR GREENS”.

  Eat your greens? Sure, it’s all very community-spirited to graffiti a public health message in a police interview room, but—

  It hits me. It’s code. It’s got to be. Some sort of warning, an anagram maybe, about how I shouldn’t trust them, they’ll stitch me up, don’t drink the water they poison it, get out while you can, that type of thing.

  But then I think, never mind that, this is actually all very serious and perhaps there are even worse things to worry about. Example: what if they do a … you know, a cavity search?

  But then, why would they even do that anyway? It can’t be a routine thing.

  It’s not a routine thing, is it?

  I swallow hard, palms sweating, as I sit down, Dad pulling up the chair next to me, the two police officers on the other side of the table – an older white guy with a craggy face, and a slightly younger black guy, forties maybe, who’s the one in charge. I wish they could have put me with a kindly, cardigan-wearing officer with a gentle voice, in a room with sofas and a few pot plants, or something. Why haven’t they done that?

  BECAUSE THEY ARE GOING TO STRIP YOU AND CAVITY SEARCH YOU, THAT’S WHY! THEY’RE GOING TO BEND YOU OVER AND RAM THEIR LATEX-GLOVED HANDS UP YOUR—

  “Sure you don’t want a drink?” Craggy Face asks.

  I lamely hold up my plastic bottle of Lucozade and hope they don’t notice how much my hand is shaking. A sure sign of guilt.

  Dad chuckles. “He has way too much sugar!”

  Oh yes, very funny. Aren’t kids just the worst?!

  The policemen both laugh too, as Craggy Face tips four sachets of demerara into his plastic cup of vending machine coffee, with absolutely no hint of irony. He stirs his drink, then looks up at me and smiles. Maybe he’s playing “nice cop”. Maybe it’ll be the other guy who ROUGHLY SHOVES HIS HAND UP MY— “So, I’m DS Hunter, and this is DI Griffin,” he says.

  DI Griffin smiles too, then he leans forward and says, “Nice T-shirt, Alex.” It’s a distorted chequered design, in black and lime green, and it is quite nice. I like it. I love it, actually. “Don’t think I could get away with it, but it looks good on you,” DI Griffin continues.

  I give Dad a glance and a little raise of my eyebrows, which I know is smug, but I’ve been proven right, so. Dad wanted me to wear a proper shirt. I refused. Too hot for that, plus I felt it made me look like I was trying too hard. And that might look … well, guilty. By way of compromise, I’d agreed to wear my tan chinos, rather than some shorts. You know it’s serious when Dad insists on the chinos. Or at least, you know Dad thinks it’s serious. He responds to me being right by rolling his eyes a little and sitting back in his chair, like he thinks my victory is meaningless. He would have been here in a full-on dinner suit if he could have been.

  DI Griffin is still acting all mesmerized by my T-shirt. “Where’s it from?” he says.

  My eyes widen. Something in his voice makes me feel he thinks I stole it. “I bought it,” I say, immediately worrying that makes it sound like I didn’t. And in actual fact, I didn’t. So, here we are, first question in, and I’m already LYING TO THE POLICE. There are good reasons for this. And it’s not just about my ineptitude in any situation where I have to be in close proximity to another human being. The T-shirt was actually a present, it’s just I don’t want to say who from, not in front of Dad. Not yet. If I say, it’ll raise questions, and now isn’t the time to tell him all about that. Especially when I don’t even know if … well, anyway. This is a new low, even for me. But in for a penny: “Online,” I mutter, looking down at the “EAT YOUR GREENS” on the table and wondering if it’s actually a clever reminder that you shouldn’t try to challenge the system. Do as you’re told, eat your greens, brush your teeth, be a good boy, and don’t tell lies. But the lies are mounting up. They’ll impound my computer, forensically examine it, and when they do, aside from the sites you know I visit but we all know I shouldn’t, they’ll also find no evidence I’ve ever bought a T-shirt online.

  DI Griffin nods. He’s not an idiot. No way is he buying this platter of crap I’m serving him.

  I clear my throat, give my messy blond hair a scratch, look at him, look away, look at my fingernails and look back again. It’s an assortment of nervous tics that must read: GUILTY AS SIN. Why are we talking about my T-shirt, anyway? This is some clever psychological tactic, isn’t it? He’s buttering me up, being all nicey-nicey, so that I relax and incriminate myself. “I haven’t done anything wrong,” I add.

  “Alex, we’re not suggesting you have,” DI Griffin says. “You’re here voluntarily and you’re free to go at any time.”

  I think about going. It would be pretty nice to go, right now. But going would look weird. It would look guilty. If I was innocent, I would just be all “La, la, la! Of course I’ll help with your enquiries!” and everything would be fine and we’d probably have a laugh and stuff.

  DI Griffin runs his tongue over his lips. “Why don’t you just tell us everything? The whole thing.”

  “Everything?”

  DI Griffin nods. “From start to finish, Alex. Don’t leave anything out. You might not think something important, but any tiny detail, some insignificant thing, it might just help us.”

  “OK.” I guess that sounds fine. It’s not like I have to hide anything. I mean, there are some bits to this that I’d like to hide. Especially with Dad sitting next to me and two blokes that I don’t even know opposite. But the trouble with hiding stuff is that then other bits don’t make sense and you end up lying, like I’ve already lied. Frigging twice. Little connections and motivations are lost, and expert interviewers, like DI Griffin surely is, would spot that a mile off. Then he’d be all, “If you’re hiding that, WHAT ELSE ARE YOU HIDING MISTER MAN?! SPREAD YOUR GODDAMN LEGS AND BEND OVER RIGHT NOW,” as he snaps those gloves on and— I swallow again. “Everything, then?” My voice sounds squeaky.

  DI Griffin nods, smiles at me and flips open
a notepad. “Everything, Alex.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  She told me via text because she’s a coward.

  Hey Alex! How you doing?

  OK thanks. You?

  Cool. So don’t know if Will told you, but we’re off on holiday tomorrow! Yay!

  She doesn’t know if Will told me? Jesus, why didn’t she just ask Will, since she was dating him and he was probably sitting next to her as she typed this serious-made-to-sound-casual rubbish. Will had not told me. At least, not officially. Nor had she. And they were both supposed to be my mates. Although I did know something was going on, because I saw them both shopping in the chemist’s the week before. Actually, I heard them first – discussing the merits of different brands of suntan lotion, just the other side of the shelving from where I was looking for any sort of shower gel that wasn’t aggressively masculine and full of weird ingredients like silver or charcoal.

  “Forecast says it’ll be over thirty-five every day, babe – you’ll need at least factor thirty.”

  I froze, then slowly squatted down behind the shelves, not that they could see me over the top anyway, but being lower down made me feel more hidden.

  “So, I’m not gonna get a tan, then?”

  “You’re so pale though, babe… No, get the spray stuff, it’s easier.”

  I didn’t want them to see me because it would have been awkward, right? Awkward because last year we all went on holiday together – Annie’s parents rented a villa in Spain, and they let me and Will stay in the spare room for free. That was before Annie and Will got together and everything was normal. It was when I stupidly hoped I might be in with a chance with Will, even though he was a straight boy (*slaps forehead repeatedly*), and that maybe at some point over the ten nights we would be sharing a bedroom, he would finally open up to me about his confused feelings towards other boys, and ideally me specifically.

  Well, that didn’t happen.

  All that did happen over those ten nights is that Will talked a lot about how much he fancied Annie, and I spent a lot of time locked in the bathroom, relieving myself of all the stress.

  I’m sorry, that’s probably too much information.

  But anyway, they became a couple and they had clearly decided they wanted to do couple things and there was no space for me any more. And there in the chemist’s, that was the exact moment I realized that my long-anticipated glorious summer after finishing GCSEs, just hanging with my mates, with no worries and nothing to do except mess about in whatever sun the fickle English summer deigned to throw our way, was totally wrecked.

  But before I had a chance to contemplate the car crash of my summer any further, it got worse:

  “We really need to tell Alex,” Annie said.

  “Yeah, but what do we say, though?” I could imagine Will flapping about awkwardly, avoiding her eyes, not wanting this conversation, because that’s what Will does. That was one of the main reasons we became friends – he hates talking as much as I do. We could literally sit for hours, in total silence, playing video games, and we’d both be happy as pigs in shit.

  “Well, we gotta say something,” she said. “He thinks we’re all gonna be hanging the whole summer, so it’s not fair on him.” She paused and sighed. “Poor Alex.”

  Poor Alex?! I was actually frozen to the spot at this point, because now I was some sort of charity case. I was a person to feel sorry for. Don’t get me wrong, I am well aware of my own terrible plight – I’ve lived my constantly disappointing life for a full sixteen years now, so I’m well acquainted with the damp squib that is my existence, but for OTHER PEOPLE to also know this?! It was mortifying.

  I had to get out of there before they discovered me behind the shelf, and before I heard any more devastating revelations. If I worked my way back towards the far left corner of the store, I was probably safe. I could hover there, pretend to look at stuff, and wait until they’d gone. I stood up, and my eyes met those of the security guard, who was watching me from the end of the aisle. I grabbed a bottle of “Hydro Force Power Wash – With Active Carbon” (why do they think guys require this level of industrial cleaning?), to try to show I wasn’t a shoplifter, and I scurried off along the aisle, something hot and unpleasant pumping through my veins. Poor Alex. Poor Alex. Were they just hanging out with me because they felt bad for me? Like the kid picked last for a sports team, was I just a burden they were reluctantly letting join in? I couldn’t believe that’s what they thought of me. I couldn’t believe Will hadn’t told me about the secret holiday. I couldn’t believe how … empty this whole thing had made me feel. Yes, I get that people find love. It’s not that I begrudge them that. I just don’t see why that suddenly means friends have to be excluded, like you can’t be part of their little gang any more. It would have been nice to go on holiday with them again. I wouldn’t have been any trouble. I never am. I’ve even got that in writing on one of my reports, from Mrs Harper, history: “He’s not any trouble.”

  I must have been on autopilot, because I unexpectedly arrived, breathless, at the checkouts, with a basket stacked high with random products I must have picked off the shelves as I stormed past. I didn’t know what the hell I’d been doing, or even how long I’d been doing it, but the security guard was watching again, so I must have been acting pretty weird.

  Also, I was very confident there was no way I’d have enough money in my account to pay for all this. But, nevertheless, there I was. Trying anyway.

  A blonde girl, face thick with foundation – “I’m Dolly – here to help!” – gave me a half-hearted smile. “Do you want a carrier?”

  Whilst the obvious answer would have been yes due to the volume of goods I’d acquired, the five-pence charge she would have added for the carrier could have been the straw that broke the camel’s back, financially. “No,” I said, with as much confidence as I could manage, like I could deal with this. Like the carrying situation was in hand. “No carrier.”

  She looked at me doubtfully and started scanning the items through the till.

  “Alex?”

  I froze. It was Will’s voice. Right behind me.

  “Will?!” I said, with too much surprise, because it was clearly him, holding a basket of goods in a shop in the town where we both live, so his being there shouldn’t have been that shocking.

  Will nodded at me. “Cool, man,” he said, pushing his free hand through his dark brown hair. He was looking less skinny than usual. Like he’d been going to the gym. I tried not to look too much.

  “I’m just in the chemist,” Will said. “Getting some … stuff.”

  I glanced at his basket – several bottles of suntan lotion, after sun, eye masks, inflatable travel pillows and those little miniature toiletries you can take through airport security. I flicked my eyes up to him, because if he was going to tell me about how he was going on holiday without me, this would probably have been the time – what with all the evidence and all.

  But he bottled it. “Annie’s here, actually… I think she’s … looking at shampoo.”

  “Yeah, shampoo’s … good,” I said. “Hair.”

  “Hair. Right! Ha! So … Alex … you got plans for the summer?”

  OK, so here it was. This was the lead-up. I couldn’t tell him the truth, which was “nothing”, because it sounded utterly pathetic. And I couldn’t say “doing stuff with you guys” because it sounded too needy, and anyway, I knew I wouldn’t be doing that now.

  And as annoyed as I was, Will and Annie were also friends, and I didn’t want to make them feel bad.

  I blew out a breath. “Loads,” I said.

  “Cool…” Will nodded, clearly expecting more. Expecting details.

  “What about you?” I said. Deflection – my favourite tactic.

  Will nodded. “Hey, maybe later in the summer we should all go to a festival or something.”

  I noted his use of the word “later”. This was Will’s way of telling me he wouldn’t be around during the first part. I should probably have
considered myself told at this point.

  “Sure,” I said, because being rammed into a muddy field with thousands of pissed-up happy people is about as far away from my comfort zone as you can get. “Or a barbecue?” A barbecue sounded safer to me. I could probably get on board with that.

  “Totally!” Will said, with way too much enthusiasm. “Everyone loves meat!”

  “Not vegetarians,” I reminded him.

  He nodded, sadly. “Not vegetarians.” There was a time he would have laughed at that.

  Dolly coughed to get my attention. “Thirty-five pounds, fifty,” she said.

  I looked in horror, first at the numbers on the little screen and then at what I’d actually bought, which, in the absence of a carrier bag, was all laid out on the countertop: my Stallion Man Beefcake Wash With Active Red-Blooded Testosterone (or whatever the hell it was), a bath bomb (actually, I really like them, so fine), sanitary towels, two pots of baby food, a pregnancy test kit, some “Glam Crystals” glitter eyeliner, and two large boxes, each containing twenty-four own-brand condoms.

  I felt Will’s eyes scanning the items too, as a shocked silence fell across us all.

  Dolly’s eyes flicked from the condoms to me. I am sixteen, but I’m a young sixteen, you know? I don’t necessarily look like I should be having sex. I certainly don’t come across as confident enough to be having that much sex. Not forty-eight condoms’ worth. Even one condom would be pushing it, believability-wise. And with these goods, I was aware I was also giving the impression I had one baby at home, and another potentially on the way. Maybe she would think that’s why I needed all the condoms. Maybe she would think I had finally seen sense, and understood the importance of safe sex.

  My cheeks were glowing. I could see Will out of the corner of my eye, and he was just sort of staring, open-mouthed. Also, there was no way I would have enough money in my account to cover this; I had about fifteen quid, tops.

  But I optimistically let Dolly try my debit card anyway, because you never knew; sometimes banks accidentally deposited tens of thousands in people’s accounts due to some processing error.