Charlie Says Chapter 1 free porn video

A quick message from Lizzy: As most of you know, I've been writing fiction for the TG/Genderfluid community for a few years now. I've always been happy to share these for free as it's both been fun for me to do and a great way to improving my writing skills. Recently, I've been thinking like I'd like to take my skills to the next level and am hoping to enlist a professional editor to help me do so. In order to achieve this I've started a crowdfunding campaign and would gratefully accept any donations to help me reach my goal. https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/getting-published-tg- fiction/x/19513677#/ Otherwise please enjoy Jess's excellent writing (and my deranged scribblings) Charlie Says Chapter 1 "I don't think I should go," Claire says, as she stops getting ready and puts down her eyeliner. She's wearing her green dress, the one that sets off her eyes. The one that she knows he likes. "I'll be fine," Charlie doesn't turn away from his computer game, "maybe get a pizza and just relax. I've got those episodes of 'Wild Wild Country' I've been meaning to watch." "Charlie, please. It's the anniversary of her death. And you need..." He knows what she's going to say. That he needs to talk about it, that it's not healthy, that she's here for him. "I know you mean well, but really, I'm fine. I hadn't even thought about it." This is a lie. He had been thinking of the box of her things in the closet, the snowglobe she bought on their trip to the Lake District when he was about nine or ten. The letters that spelled out Coniston Water. He remembers how he went to clean out her bungalow after it happened. How, after he gave away her clothes to Marie Stopes, everything else fitted into one of the fold out boxes he bought from WH Smiths. "Charlie," she smiles. The tiny creases on her forehead show him she's frustrated. "Claire," he smiles. "Your aunt is in from Barcelona. You can't miss that. We don't want Elizabeth to get upset, do we?" Claire touches his arm, "So come. She'd love to see you." She looks away. Charlie laughs. "No, she wouldn't. And you know that. Besides, me, you, your mum, your aunt and your sister. There's a few ways that could go. None good. Plus, it's one night. I'm not a child, I'll be fine." "Did you call Phil? Rich?" He smiles, but he's annoyed. Since she scheduled this trip, she's been on him to get in touch with his friends. "Yes. And they both have plans. Anyway I see Phil all day everyday at work. I only saw him about an hour ago. Please. Go," he gets up and kisses her. "Send your aunt my... Well, lie for me." Claire laughs and returns the kiss. "I'm sure she'll send the same lie." She won't. Her aunt's made it abundantly clear from the first day that he met her that she finds him lacking, "You're really sure?" He kisses and gently turns her around. "I'm positive. Go get ready. You don't want to be late and miss any of the fun!" He un-pauses his game as she goes and finishes getting ready. A half an hour later, she leaves and he queues up 'Wild Wild Country.' He watches an episode and gets ready to order a pizza. For whatever reason, he takes out his phone and opens Google Maps. He sees traffic is moving on the M23, well as much traffic ever moves on the M23. It takes forever to get anywhere from London. Especially on a Friday night. Still, he could be on the motorway and in Brighton, in a few hours. Fuck it, he thinks. I'm going to have a glass of wine. ----- Charlie felt the pounding even before he opened his eyes. It had been a long time since he'd woken up with a hangover like that. He stood up, his feet wobbly and his eyes blurred. He could feel every molecule on his tongue as he stumbled off to find the bathroom. He banged his knee on a chair and yelled out. His voice sounded higher than normal. His phone? It took a few minutes for him to find it. The dim light of the screen illuminated his face. 'Six thirty AM. Sunday.' How had he lost a full day? A thin stream of early morning light came in through the window. He half walked, half fell over to it and opened the curtains. Rubbing his eyes he looked around. Where was he? His throat closed and his heart pounded. He moved to put his hand over his heart. As if that would stop it. That was weird, his chest didn't feel like his chest. Sure, he was thirty five and out of shape, but still. He'd never had moobs before. That's when it hit him. There was another bed in the room. And someone was in it. He got up and walked over. All five senses screamed that there was something wrong. Even before he reached the bed, he knew the man was dead. The grey lifelessness of his skin. The pools of blood, black in the dim light. He put a hand over his mouth to stop himself from throwing up. The shirt the body was wearing. The sort of toned down Hawaiian one. He had the same. Claire had always hated it. He had a bad feeling. Slowly he moved around to the front. He collapsed, his legs suddenly unable to hold him up. It was him. The body. Was him. He heard screaming, it sounded like it was coming from far away. High pitched and feral. It took awhile for him to realise it was coming from his own mouth. The impulse to vomit. He raced into the bathroom, flinging the toilet seat open just in time. His whole body convulsed. What came out was mostly liquid, smelling of alcohol. No sign of the pizza. He heard thumping on the room door and pushed himself up. He was in a hotel somewhere. How had he got there? Scrambling around, he found a light. His heart stopped. At first, he thought someone else was in the bathroom with him. For a second, he thought it was a ghost. The face he saw was the face of a young girl. Sixteen, maybe seventeen? She was small, with a little mouth and petite features. Her red hair was cut into a pixie and her eyes were blue and round. The look of fear and confusion on her face mirrored his own. Again the screaming, at first far away and then closer. He was on the floor curled up as heard the door break down in the bedroom. There was shouting, manic activity. And then someone's arm was around him. "Shh, Charlie, it's OK. I'm here." He thought he recognised the man's voice, but wasn't sure where from. There are other voices too. It sounds like people are running around. Someone was running down the stairs. "Police and ambulance are on their way," a male voice said, an indeterminate amount of time later. The man held him close. Pulling him to his chest and running a hand through his hair. If he wasn't paralyzed by the strangeness of it all he'd have pushed him away. It was only the stability of his touch that made him realise how much he was shaking. "Let's get her out of here," the man spoke to someone he couldn't see. Then he felt hands lifting him. Carrying him like he hadn't been carried since childhood. He was taken out of the room and up some stairs. There was a door that looked like a front door, which led into a small living room space. It was a loft apartment, with the walls sloping in to make room for the roof. Whoever was carrying him put him down on the sofa. "You want water?" asked the younger male voice. "Drink some water." "Uh-huh," he sat himself up. A little too quickly, his head started spinning. "Here you go," the voice was calm, soothing. "T-thanks," he looked up, "do I know you?" "Know me?" The man, somewhere in his late twenties shook his head. "Elijah," He stared blankly. "Your brother," the man laughed. "That must've been one hell of a night, Charlie..." Brother? He hasn't had any type of sibling, not since...Well not since a very long time ago. Slowly he sipped his water. The glass wasn't that big but his fingers looked tiny against it. He thought of that girl in the mirror. How the fuck could this have happened? It couldn't. From below, he heard voices, the crackle of a police radio. Shit. The situation started to become clear to him. How the hell was he going to explain any of this? "I-I, have to go..." He tried standing up. The man calling himself Elijah looked concerned, and with ease pushed him back down on the sofa. "Where do you think you're going?" He put a hand on his forehead. "Dad'll be back up in a second." There was no point in running. Even if he could get past the police and others down the stairs, where did he think he was going to go? He'd just have to sit still. See what happened and wait for an opportunity. About ten minutes later there were footsteps on the stairs and the sound of a key in the door. A man, tall with distinguished grey hair and broad shoulders and a short police woman came in the room. The police woman spoke quietly into her radio, "I'm with her now." "Charlie love, how are you doing?" The grey haired man knelt down in front of him, taking both his hands in his own. It felt weird, but calming. He had no idea who this man was but felt like he should. Charlie couldn't speak so just nodded. Perhaps it was the confusion, perhaps the moment, but the tears started flooding. Within seconds, his face was a mixture of tears and snot. "Oh honey," the man, who Charlie now vaguely recognised, took out a tissue and started gently wiping his face clean. "Mr Burke, I'm going to need to speak to your daughter," the police woman sounded unsure of herself. She looked young and Charlie doubted she was long out of training. "Charlotte, can you hear me?" "Really, do you need to be doing this now?" The older man snapped. The police woman nearly jumped back. Then she seemed to remember who she was and what was in the room downstairs. "Mr Burke, this is a murder investigation. I just need to establish a timeline with your daughter." He started shaking. Daughter? No, this was all wrong. He felt the older man, Mr Burke, getting up off the sofa and putting a protective arm around him. "What do you want to know?" He sniffed, getting a measure of control over himself. The officer continued in a gentler voice, "How did you find the body, Charlotte? Why were you in that room?" At first he didn't connect this 'Charlotte' to himself. Elijah spoke for him, "My sister sometimes sleeps in the empty rooms. When she's had too much to drink. When she doesn't want dad to know." Charlie feels Mr Burke's grip tightening on his shoulder. "You were out drinking?" The officer made a note in her pad. "Who were you with?" He heard Mr Burke give a small laugh. "That'd be Courtney and Sam. It's always those three, since she was twelve." The officer made another note, "I've got their parents' numbers somewhere. I can find them if you like." "Could you," the officer didn't take her eyes of off him as Mr Burke got up and went to look for them. Elijah coughed. "They'll have been in The Swan." The police officer nodded. Every town had a pub like The Swan. Less rigorous in its ID checks, and tolerated by the police on the basis that at least they know where all the underage kids were. "So, was the body in the room when you got back?" The officer had to click the end of her pen a couple of times before a tip came out. He shook his head. "I-I can't remember. I must have been very drunk..." That much was true at least. Mr Burke returned and handed the officer a piece of paper. He shot a look that Charlie took as a reprimand. Time started losing its meaning to Charlie. He sat there, nodding and sniffing. Answering the officers' questions as best as he could. Mostly that he was too drunk to remember. A male officer came in, whispered something to his colleague then left again. All the time Mr Burke, who seemed more and more familiar to him, kept his arms around him. At some point two women in those hazmat suits came in. Gently, he was asked to strip. Elijah, Mr Burke and the male police officer left the room. The female officer must have thought she was crying so much because of the shock. But he had just got a view of his new body. The parts that were clearly female. The slender limbs, the freckled skin. He hardly noticed when one of the women took a blood sample. Once they'd bagged all the clothes, they put him in a hazmat suit similar to the ones they were wearing. It was way too big for him, 'her', and he had to roll up the legs and the arms. He felt like an idiot. Someone said something about hospital and the next thing he knew he was being led out. Mr Burke, had his arms around him. He felt small compared to this man. Mark, the name 'Mark' suddenly came to him. Something from childhood... "Hey Mark?" He said in a hushed voice. "It's Mark now, is it? Joining Kit, are you?" He laughed a little, a note of hysteria appearing in his voice. Then he calmed down. "What is it, love?" "It's nothing." Instinctively, he put his head on Mark's shoulder. Outside the hotel was an ambulance. He looked right and saw the seafront. Even in the cool autumn air, he could smell the salt. So he knew he was in Brighton at least. Had he driven down on Friday night? There was a small group of neighbours and early morning tourists hanging around watching everything. From somewhere behind them, he caught Elijah's voice, "A guy passed away in one of the rooms. My little sister was the one who found him." Mark helped him get in the back of the ambulance and then climbed in behind him with another woman. --- Mark remembered the time when, age nine, Charlie had fallen down the stairs. Back then, the kid only wanted to play rough games. Charlie would climb anything and everything, always having to go higher than the other children. They'd been watching some terrible kid's action film and had dared each other to climb up the side of the stairs using the banisters only. Mark could still hear that horrible crunching sound when Charlie's head had hit the floor. This felt worse. Charlie had calmed down a little. Although her eyes still had that wild look about them. It was odd being in the back of the ambulance. Mark could hear the traffic outside. Was it already time for the morning rush? The noise seemed like it was coming from a different universe. He took the compress the paramedic had given him and mopped his daughter's brow. The hospital was relatively quiet when they reached A&E. The paramedics rushed Charlie through to the wards. Mark had to speed up his pace to keep up. Charlie's hand in his. "Who's this?" a young black doctor with a West Indian accent asked. "Charlotte, although everyone calls her Charlie," Mark squeezed her little hand. He remembered being in the same building when she was born. How happy he'd been. Not that he didn't love his boys just as much. "OK Charlie, let's take you through." The next few hours were filled with tests and waiting. He wondered why they couldn't wait until Charlie was more alert The officer, Fernandez she said her name was, spoke to her. She pronounced the z in the Spanish way as a 'th' sound. She explained that, "We need to preserve any evidence," as if his daughter, his princess, were a crime scene. "I am truly sorry Mr. Burke, Charlie, but we're also going to need to swab her for DNA." Mark looked at Charlie, and then it hit him what that meant. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to lock Charlie in her room forever. Charlie spoke in an angry whisper, "I told you. Nothing happened. I drank too much and I woke up in the room. Nothing else!" Fernandez seemed to be trying not to look stern. Failing miserably, in Mark's opinion, "Charlie, if this were avoidable, we would avoid it. But it isn't." Mark could hear ringing in his ears, "I'm calling someone. I will get this stopped." Charlie turned to him and sighed. "Mark, stop," she whimpered, "I know nothing happened," The girl sighed. "at least this way, we'll know for certain." Fernandez offered, "Of course, Mr. Burke, you can be present for everything." Thank you so much for thinking of me. "I mean, if that's OK with Charlie." A nurse came in and told Charlie to put on a paper gown. Mark had to smile when he saw Charlie trying to hold the back closed. "It's fine," he laughed. "Everyone here is walking around with their arses stuck out. And you look good in paper." Both the nurse and Fernandez laughed. Charlie looked as if she wanted to die. But not before taking Mark with her. ----- Nothing else could have happened. At least that's what he hoped. How would he know, he hadn't been in this body for long? Anything could have happened beforehand. Another thought popped into his head. What could happen to girls who had sex without protection. He quickly pushed that out of his head. And down the stairs, bolted the door shut and welded the lock closed. The nurse took his arm, although he didn't need it, and walked him along the corridor. She was saying something about how brave he was, how it wasn't his fault. He didn't take it in. They led him into a tiled room with a shower. Then the nurse helped him take his hospital gown off. Instinctively he moved his arms and hands to preserve what little modesty he had. Feeling the lack of something down there made him shiver. The nurse went to take his hand and he instinctively recoiled, backing up against a wall. "I know this is difficult, Charlie," Fernandez said. She told him to call her Carla. "But we need you to help us. So that we can help you. OK?" Charlie slumped. He was naked and about to be prodded and poked by three women, all of whom were bigger than him. On so many levels, he just couldn't process the information. The nurse took his hand, and led him to the table. He laid down and could feel the paper roll, the one they'd rip off for the next girl, itch at his skin. Carla and Mark stood on either side of him. Mark holding his hand, trying to look anywhere but at him, while the doctor moved around. Carefully and calmly, she examined his body, touching it gently with her surgical glove covered hands. As she went she spoke to the nurse, "Signs of bruising on the arms... Cuts to the legs... Could be from a fall..." Silently, the nurse noted it all down. Eventually they came to the privates. The doctor took out a small swab and looked at Charlie. "Sorry. This won't take long." Charlie scrunched his eyes closed, feeling Mark's grip intensifying. It didn't quite succeed in blocking out the all new signals his brain was receiving. Then they were done. The doctor and Carla went off to one side and the nurse smiled at him. "You can shower now." He nodded, he had never wanted anything more. "I'll wait outside with your dad. If you need help just call." Charlie looked at Mark. A moment ago, he had looked like he was powered by an internal fire of righteous anger. A fire that could have burnt the whole of the Home Counties down. But that had left him and he looked completely empty, all energy spent. "No," Charlie said as kindly as he could manage, "I'll be OK." Then, moving more by instinct than anything, he gave Mark a hug. He squeezed him back, so hard he was frightened he'd lose a rib. A few minutes later, Mark let go and they all filled out, the nurse leaving him a clean towel and a fresh gown. He stayed in the shower much longer than he needed to. Sat on the floor letting the water run over his head. He felt like he should be crying or shaking or something. But he didn't feel anything. Other than that he didn't want to deal with what was on the other side of the door. When he couldn't leave it any longer, and after the nurse had knocked and politely enquired how he was, he dressed and opened the door. The nurse and Mark were waiting for him. Mark's eyes were red. They led him back to the room. ---- After the exam, Mark insisted in taking Charlie back in a wheelchair. She wouldn't say anything or look at him. Once back in the room she got in the bed, pulled the covers to her neck and passed out. About an half an hour in, Elijah turned up carrying a newspaper and coffee. They sat in silence, either side of Charlie's bed. Mark watched her sleep, her small chest rising and falling. It wasn't just her age that set her apart. The boys were almost as tall as Mark. Charlie was the last one he could pick up. The last one who needed his protection. "You remember the Charlie Says song, dad?" Elijah's voice jolted him out of his daze. "Yes," the merest flicker of a smile passed across his face, "she used to love doing the voice of the cat." When Charlie was about three, he'd been clearing out some of his old rave records. Mark had thought the Prodigy song would have scared the little girl. And had felt an intense nervousness about the song's underlying drug motif. But all Charlie heard was a catchy song and a funny cartoon cat. "You know, it's a sample from a public safety film?" "You've told us," Elijah touched his father's arm, "like a million times." Mark sat up suddenly. "Was that when you two started calling her Charlie?" Elijah laughed. "Could be. I don't remember us calling her anything else." Charlie made a noise, suddenly stirring. Her eyes opened, just by a few millimetres at first. Then suddenly they were wide open. "W-what? Where?" Mark shushed her, pushing her back in the bed. There was that wild look again. "Hey sis," Elijah took her hand. She tried to pull back but soon gave up. She seemed to be trying to slow her breathing down. A nurse came in. "Do you want her to have a mild sedative?" She looked at Mark. Mark looked at Charlie who was losing the battle to calm her breathing and nodded. The nurse prepared the needle, Charlie just looked at her. Seemingly half disbelieving, half terrified. Stuck between fight or flight. She just managed to stay still as the nurse injected her. Ten minutes later, the detectives arrived. The first detective was a tall man, handsome in a disheveled way. Mark wondered if there was some special shop somewhere where the members of CID could buy pre- crumpled clothes. The other was a woman somewhere in her late thirties with brown hair. To Mark her face looked young, despite its serious expression. "We need to ask," the first detective glanced at his notebook, "Charlotte a few questions, sir." Mark hated the 'sir'. "Sorry, they just gave her a sedative." "What more do you need to ask her?" Elijah sounded calm enough but his father recognised the beginnings of anger. Like his mother, it could boil up quickly. He placed a hand on his arm. Perhaps the male detective picked up on it as well. "This is a serious matter." He puffed out his chest. Elijah pulled away from her. "You can't possibly think my sister did... that!" He gestured to Charlie. She looked smaller and more vulnerable than ever. Her pale skin disappeared into the crisp white bed sheets. "We just need to establish a timeline," the female detective was curt and professional. "Are you the owner of the hotel?" "Yes. Well, me and the bank," he watched as the woman wrote something down. "And was the victim." Mark flinched at the word 'victim' but the woman didn't seem to notice. "A guest?" Mark tried to think if he remembered him. "Yes, I think so. He arrived late on Friday, didn't say anything." The woman made another note. Mark had the urge to grab her notebook to see what she had written. The detective tapped her pen on her pad. "Do you remember his name? Anything about him?" Mark shook his head. "No, sorry. We get a lot of people coming through. Said he was here on personal business, I think. And Elijah was coming home for the weekend. I was distracted." Mark picked at the dry skin around one of his nails. He felt ashamed but wasn't sure why. "He booked through an app. It'll all be on the computer. Everything works through an app these days." Elijah got up sighing. "I can show you. We'll have to go back to the hotel." He placed a hand on Mark's shoulder. Mark just nodded, looking away. As if trying to listen to a conversation happening just out of earshot. As they left, the woman handed Mark a card. "It's DI Maunder. If she remembers anything, let me know. It's in everyone's interest. My colleague is DS Bowman," there was a loud crash as the stack of bedpans DS Bowman had been examining toppled over and hit the floor. "if you can't reach me." There was a pause. "A colleague will come by to check on her. They may need to take a few more tests." She looked intently at Mark who just nodded, not sure what that meant. Then he was left alone with Charlie. He brushed a few short strands of hair that had become plastered to her forehead. He could remember doing the same for baby Charlie. Charlie's eyes flickered violently. A bad dream? This was his little girl. The child had his best features. His blue eyes and his cheekbones. Where had the new haircut come from? When had Charlie decided on it? It was hard enough keeping up with teenage girls these days. After a few hours, Charlie stirred. Her eyes opened and she looked around. "Shit, I'm still here." Mark laughed. "It's bad practice to send home someone who's unconscious." Charlie gave him a strange look, as if she was far away. This unnerved him. "What's wrong?" Charlie looked away, "The last thing I remember was having a drink. Then, I wake up next to a dead man. Then, I'm in hospital. And I look like this." Mark brushed the short hair on his daughter's head. He couldn't let himself think of all the things that could have possibly gone wrong. "Don't worry about that. They're not concerned with your outfit." There's a pause. "Is there something else?" The girl slumped. "Nothing. Nothing at all." "Are you sure? Is it about last night?" The girl mumbled no. "The detectives were here. You can tell me. Did you and that man, you know? I promise I won't be cross. One time amnesty." Charlie sat up quickly. "No!" She yelled then calmed down a little. "No. No. Absolutely, incontrovertibly not." Mark nodded his head, grateful of at least that. "We're in Brighton, right?" Mark looked at her and felt his eyes narrow. Charlie knew that she wasn't allowed to leave Brighton without permission. "Were you elsewhere last night?" He hoped the answer is no. If it's yes, Charlie will wish it was no. "No," the girl said, slumping. "It's just been...a lot. Sorry for the fright, Mark...dad." She fell back asleep. --- Opening his eyes slowly Charlie took in the room. From the light coming in through the window it was past midday. Still sat next to him was the man calling himself Mark. Across the room in another chair was a young man. Skinny with curly brown hair. He was absentmindedly reading something on his phone. Charlie stayed still, not wanting them to see him. He felt Mark stirring and closed his eyes. "You OK dad?" Charlie didn't recognise the young man's voice. "Yeah. I'm fine Kit," then he felt a hand brushing his forehead. "She's going to be OK," Charlie wondered if Kit was trying to reassure or hoping to be reassured? "Of course she is." Another stroke of his forehead. "Probably just hungover." Cheeky bugger. Charlie zoned out as they continued talking. So what were his options? He could have probably faked the sleeping for a while longer, but what use would that have been? Charlie need to figure this out. Then he heard the door open. He couldn't help take a peek. It was Carla. She was accompanied by DI Maunder, a middle aged woman he took to be a doctor because of her serious expression and a younger woman he figured was a nurse. "Good," the police woman smiled, "she's awake." Shit. Mark and Kit both turned to catch Charlie with his eyes open. "Er, yeah. You just woke me." Mark eyed him with suspicion. He pushed himself up, trying not to look too sheepish. Officer Fernandez turned to Mark. "We have the results from the tests." He was confused. Everything from before was a blur. The officer looked at him, like she'd rather be on nights policing the drunks. In the rain. In Glasgow the night of an Old Firm derby. She looked at the doctor for help, who just shrugged. "Well?" Mark snapped, before Charlie could speak. "And?" Kit came over and put one hand on Mark's shoulder and one on Charlie's. "Dad," he cautioned. The officer took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Mr Burke, Charlie. As I've said, it's procedure in cases like this. We have to..." Charlie felt Mark's hand tense around his. Charlie looked at them. "I told you. Nothing happened. I got drunk. I just don't remember..." They all looked at him like he was an idiot. "Charlie," DI Maunder spoke calmly and slowly, "according to your statement you were out drinking. Then you blacked out and have no memory until you woke up in a hotel room with an older man. A dead older man." His head was buzzing. He wanted to argue. "Look it wasn't... I mean I wasn't... this is silly..." But was it? Charlie's mind was full of strange ideas. Satanic body swapping cults. Surgeons stealing healthy bodies and leaving their owners in, what? In younger, healthier bodies? Mark snapped. "So, what did you find? Out with it already!" The doctor came over and put her hand on Mark, half comfort and half reproach. "There are traces of narcotics in your daughter's," that sounded weird, "system, other than alcohol." Charlie felt sick. What narcotics? He remembered a documentary on BBC 3 about date rape. Mark gripped his hands into fists. Charlie could see all the blood running out of his face. The doctor looked horrified, her professional mask dropping for a second. "Marijuana. And MDMA, Ecstasy..." Out of the corner of his eye, Charlie saw Kit smile briefly. "It's not clear if they were taken by choice, but Ecstasy is a common date rape drug." Mark fell back in his chair. He looked at Charlie. Charlie wished that he'd go back to not looking at him. The doctor continued. "And," she paused and Charlie felt a sinking sensation. "there are signs of sexual activity," she paused, everyone was deadly silent, "but, as we said before, we can't say for certain if it was part of a violent attack. And there's no semen. Whoever it was, they used a condom." "Well, that's something at least," the laugh that came from Charlie's mouth sounded forced and was edged with hysteria. He felt arms around him squeezing him tight. Looking up, he was surprised to see it was Kit not Mark. --- They left the hospital the next day. Mark came by early with clothes. A simple t-shirt, skinny black jeans and a comfortable looking green jumper. "It's your favourite jumper," a cloud momentarily passed across Mark's face, "your mother's old one." Then he smiled again, his eyes begging for reassurance. He tried to smile back, but worried it came out as more of a grimace. "Oh, and I couldn't forget this," he picked up an old plastic carrier bag and handed it to him. He looked inside. A woman's leather jacket. "You remember me buying it for you?" Charlie thought he detected a note of desperation in Mark's voice, "you begged me to get it for you." He mimed clutching her hands together and making her eyes big and round. "Oh, please, please, please. I'll be ever so good." In spite of himself, Charlie gave a short, sharp snort of laughter then put on the jacket. He was surprised how well it fitted. "Er, thanks." They ate a breakfast of coffee and a Danish in the caf? downstairs while they waited for the 'boys'. In the car Elijah drove, Mark sat in the passenger seat, turning constantly to check on him, and Kit and Charlie sat in the back. He stayed silent, watching the streets he'd known as a child pass by. Even after so many years of living in London, he could close his eyes and find his way anywhere in town. He leaned his head against the window, looking up at the old Victorian buildings. Worn but still stately. At the reception they were greeted by a young woman with long black hair. "How are you all?" she said in an Eastern European accent. "Fine," Mark replied tersely. Then, remembering himself, "Sorry Nela, it's been a long couple of days." "Of course, of course," Nela's head bobbed up and down and she clasped her hands together. "Charlie, it is so good to see you back." He smiled weakly and nodded his head, unconsciously copying her movements. The four of them walked silently up the stairs. Charlie stopped outside the door covered in police tape. The others looked at him for a moment, then without a word they agreed to move on. The flat seemed different than the day before. Larger, a little friendlier. He sat on the sofa not able to think of anything else. Almost immediately the others sprung into life. "Can I make anyone a cuppa?" Mark asked. The forced jollity in his voice made Charlie wince. "That'd be lovely, thanks dad," the word 'dad' still felt strange on his tongue. He hadn't seen his own dad in years now he was this stranger's daughter? "Perfect," both the boys responded. But Mark was only looking at him. He just nodded his head again, wondering what his usual was in this universe. He was pleasantly surprised. It was sweeter than he liked it, but the right colour of brown (the same as He-Man's skin tone from the TV cartoons) and it worked its magic. A few years ago he'd seen a documentary on the Big Brother TV programme. It looked at its various incarnations across the globe and compared the different reactions to stress in different countries. One of the conclusions was that in the UK, as soon as anything emotional happened, someone made the tea. Which seemed perfectly rational to Charlie. One of the others, Charlie didn't really remember who, put the TV on and settled on Come Dine With Me. He noticed Mark kept glancing over at him. Kit sat on the floor next to his dad's chair. After a few minutes Mark laid a hand on his shoulder. After the third episode Charlie got up. "I think I'm going to lie down." The others looked worried. "I just need to rest a while," he tried to reassure them. "Can I make you something, toast maybe?" Mark got up quickly. Both the boys were watching them, making him feel nervous. "No." Without thinking he placed an hand on his stomach, he'd only just been able to keep the Danish from breakfast down. "I just need rest." The moment he closed the door to the living room he was sure they started talking about him. He didn't have the energy to care. For a moment, he was worried he wouldn't know which door led to his bedroom. The large red cut out heart, which contained a number of collaged photos, told him what he needed to know. His face, as well as two other girls, looked out at him. He was surprised to see himself with long hair in a few of them. The other girls were both blond, one with long hair that always seemed tied back, the other with a short bob. The bob girl was wearing a black dress in each photo. Was it the same one? The other girl always seemed to be looking into the camera, almost as if she was accusing it of something. The bedroom was fairly typical of a teenage girl. Purple bed covers, the duvet piled in the middle like a scale model of an alpine mountain. Posters on the wall, mostly music, one of Harry Kane and a few relating to computer games. One of the large wardrobe doors was covered in photos. The two girls from the door featured prominently. He decided to look inside, although judging by the mound of clothes on the floor he couldn't imagine there was much left on the hangers. He was wrong. He was surprised the wardrobe wasn't creaking under the weight. There were far too many skirts and dresses for his liking, but thankfully not much that was pink or sparkled. A few of the skirts looked closer to belts. But that, he conceded, was not unusual for a young woman. In fact, put with a thick enough pair of tights they were no more revealing really than the circulation killing trousers he was wearing. He sighed and fell on the bed. At least he had his own space. When he could think straight, he could start working on getting out of here. But for now he was safe enough. A knocking on the door woke him up. Charlie got the impression Mark counted for a few seconds before entering. "Hi Charlie, you've got..." he looked where she was looking. He'd taken off his mother's jumper and fallen asleep with it in his arms. Mark took a deep breath. "Courtney and Sam are here. Dinner will be ready in half an hour. I said they could talk to you till then if you're up to it." He shook his head, not sure what to say. He had a good excuse not to see them and part of him wanted to stay shut away. But there was no way he'd figure this out if he didn't start talking to people. And these two girls where there that night. "Sure," he caught sight of his reflection and tried to smooth down the hairs that were standing up, "send them through." Mark seemed happy with that response. In the few moments after she left Charlie did his best to tidy the room. Kicking some of the clothes under the bed and smoothing out the duvet. There was a gentle tapping on door. He opened it. "Hey Pickle," the tall girl with the tied back hair came in first, "how are you?" She made a concerned face. "Pickle," the other girl repeated, this time in a Scottish accent. She hugged her as well. Her hug seemed more serious, like she'd spent a considerable amount of time figuring out the mechanisms. She was wearing the same, or similar, black dress as the one in the photos. He only had a moment to wonder at the origins of the nickname. 'Pickle'? They all sat down on the bed. He noticed how the tall girl, Courtney he assumed from the few messages stuck up next to the photos on the wardrobe door, sat in the middle. Maybe it was just her extra height but she seemed to be taking charge. "So," Courtney said firmly, "how the hell are you?" "I'm OK," they were looking at him like they needed more, "I think. I don't really remember anything." He looked away sheepishly. "They said," Sam gulped, "The police asked us about... er... drugs and," her face seemed to go as pale as his own, "strange men." "Like I say I don't really remember anything. Do you two?" he leaned in. "No," Sam shook her head. "One minute you were there, the next you were gone. This is why I always say pace your drinks," Courtney stopped when Sam hit her on the arm. "Courtney..." the short one groaned. OK, the tall one definitely was Courtney. "We tried texting you," Sam cut in. He shrugged. "The police took my phone." They all turned as Mark shouted that dinner was ready. "We better go," Courtney hugged him again. Then she looked at him slyly. "Is your cute brother here?" He rolled his eyes. "How would I know which one is the cute one?" He'd meant that he wasn't interested in men. Only after he'd said it did he realise how much he sounded like a little sister. Judging by how red her face had gone, Sam had no problem judging the levels of cuteness. He went down the corridor to dinner. Mark was smiling, "I had Mirko make your favorite," she said, pointing at a plate of salmon with asparagus. He hated asparagus. His father hated asparagus, said it made his pee smell. Charlie remembered his mother cooking it on the nights he'd come back after he'd been away. Charlie picked at the salmon, mostly moving it around with his fork. "What's wrong, Charlie?" Mark looked concerned. "Why aren't you eating? Mirko...:" Charlie stared at the plate. "Tell him I'm sorry. I'm not very hungry..." Just then, Kit reached onto his plate and picked up the asparagus with his fingers. "Leave your sister's food alone. And use a fork," Mark shot him a dirty look. "It's no wonder that girl broke up with you." Kit grinned. "It's perfectly acceptable to eat asparagus with your fingers. And I broke up with Christine." Elijah laughed. "Besides, if nothing else, there's always Courtney mooning after him." OK, so Kit must be the cute one. He didn't see it. He looked too young, unfinished. A baby face on a not quite man's body. Mark looked at Charlie. "You should really eat something, love. I know this was, has," and he clearly took care in picking his words, "taken a lot out of you, but not eating won't solve the problem." Charlie had no interest in eating but lacked the energy to fight. He choked down the salmon, with a forced grin. Elijah spoke first, "Charlie, what happened yesterday?" Mark glared at him. "Dad," he protested, then ignored him, "Charlie, what's the last thing you remember?" Charlie thought for a while. Being in his Vauxhall on the M23, but he wasn't even sure anymore. Besides, that wouldn't have been the best choice at that moment. So he lied. Or didn't tell the whole truth. He remembered a drink at home before he left. "Having a glass of wine." From the looks on their faces, he knew that was the wrong choice. "Who gave you wine?" Mark snapped. "Why would you take wine from someone?" "No one," Charlie said, in a voice that sounded even smaller. "I just had a glass of wine..." Kit's smile left his face. "Since when do you drink wine?" Elijah glared at him. "How do you know what she drinks, Kit?" "It's not about me, arsehole. Someone gave Charlie wine and you're grilling me about why I know what she does or doesn't drink?" He turned to Charlie, "What did the person who gave you the wine look like?" Charlie lied. He couldn't well say that he had it at home, before he got behind the wheel. "He looked like the barman," he paused and came up with, "I decided to drink wine. I thought it was...I don't know...I just didn't want a beer. I thought I'd look...different." "Was it Pavel or Patrick who was on last night?" Kit asked. "I dunno," Charlie mumbled. "I wasn't really paying attention." "You don't remember whether the barman was 10 or 15 stone?" Elijah laughed, "that was some wine..." "THAT is not the least bit funny," Mark snapped. "Your sister may have been drugged and god knows what else, and you're joking." Elijah slumped. "I'm calling Donald now," who Charlie assumed was the pub owner. "He'll know." Shit, Charlie thought. Someone will get fired over this. Everyone knew about places like the Swan and turned a blind eye, until something like this happened. If this Donald questioned whoever Pavel and Patrick were and they didn't remember, they'd be made the scapegoats. He looked down. "Maybe it wasn't a glass of wine..." Mark turned sharply towards her. "Excuse me, young lady?" Charlie was too ashamed to process that last part. "What do you mean it wasn't a glass?" "Um, before we went, in case they wouldn't serve us..." He remembered back to being sixteen, how they'd drink around someone's house beforehand. For Dutch courage, in case they weren't served and because it was cheaper. He couldn't remember girls ever not being served, but in a pinch, you used the tools available. "Someone nicked a bottle of wine from home and we passed it around." Elijah and Kit laughed. Mark looked about ready to explode. "Charlie, I am not best pleased, but why didn't you say that?" This time he was honest, well sort of. "I just thought it sounded worse to have been passing around a bottle." He pushed a bit of salmon around the plate. "I watched it being uncorked." Which was true. The other three laughed. "Uncorked?" Mark said. "Well, I'm impressed with the quality of the theft." Kit chimed in. "Did you at least let it breathe before you passed it around?" Then Elijah, "So, how would you describe it? Oaken overtones? Tannins?" Charlie laughed, mostly out of relief. He felt his face flush. "Piss off, the lot of you. And you wonder why I don't tell you things." He wasn't sure where that last bit had come from. Like an actor, was he getting into character? Mark stopped laughing first. "I am still calling Donald to sort out what happened. See if anyone saw anything." "Dad!" Charlie whined. A little embarrassed by how much he sounded like a sixteen year old girl. "Please don't," he paused. Perhaps he should think about teaching drama, he was obviously a natural. Kit took on a serious tone. "Dad, you can't. I'm sure CID have been there. If Donald says he spoke to you, that could be, I don't know, witness tampering or something." When Mark got up and went to refill her water, he looked at Charlie and winked. "Why don't we focus on helping out the wine connoisseur here?" Mark, returning, grumbled his unwilling assent. Dinner finished uneventfully. "May I be excused?" Charlie offered. "I think I'd like to lie down again. I'm completely knackered." ----- Kit approached the door with uncertainty. What could he say in a situation like this? They had been close when they were little, but the six years difference meant they had ended up in different schools and circles. His being at Uni hadn't brought them any closer. Although he'd noticed a tiny hint of pride in her voice when she introduced him as 'my student brother' to her friends. It's not like he could invite her down for a party. Or would want to. He knocked. He heard a moan from inside. "What?" "It's Kit. Mind if I come in?" It felt strange to be talking to the door. He feels her pause. Then a sigh and "Fine." He walked in and looked around at the mess, the clothes everywhere. The satchel with its contents spilled out. The pair of trainers in the middle of the floor nowhere near each other, reminding him of a pedestrian hit by a car. "Don't feel like you have to clean for visitors." She looked him up and down. "I didn't ask you to come in." For a moment, he was glad he'd been away for the past couple of years. He looked around at the clothes and the pictures. The birthday card from who knows on the desk, and he wondered about his little sister. He smiled, remembering the time Dad made him take her to the playground, when he was 16. He bitched and moaned about it. Until he got to the playground and that Danish au pair, Maria, told him how sweet it was that he would do this for his little sister. How they met at the Swan later that night. He pushed some stuff off the bed, figuring the pile wasn't big enough, that you could still see a square of rug, and sat down. "What happened last night?" She fixed her gaze on him, "I told everyone. I don't know. I really don't. I had too much to drink. I wish I knew but I don't." "They're not going to let this go." "I know," she said, fingering the Afghan nana had knit her. He never liked nana. She always called him a 'savage' and told him to be more like Elijah, the suck-up. "I just don't know. Maybe someone else will remember. But I don't," she looked at him. "Thank you for what you said about Donald." He laughed, "I can be fast on my feet when I need to." He knew that if his dad called Donald, Donald would stop serving the kids and Charlie would get blamed. Adults never got it. Somehow, someone would find out Mark called and Charlie would get labeled a snitch. He knew that it was probably going to happen anyway, once the cops sniffed around, but at least it wouldn't be Charlie's fault. --- The next morning, Charlie was woken by a strange buzzing. In his drowsy state, it took him a second to realise it was his phone. "Hello?" he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and swiping the phone on without checking the caller I.D. "Hey, babe." It was a boy's voice. "Erm, hey. Who is this?" He was fully awake now. "Funny, babe," the voice laughed, completely sure of himself. Charlie moved the phone away from his face and looked at the screen. A guy. 'Billy bae.' Still not a clue. "First, you avoid me Saturday night. Now I haven't seen you around the past couple of days. The hangover couldn't have been that bad." Poor kid, he still had the two day hangover to come. Still unsure of the relationship between this boy and himself, Charlie decided to risk a punt. "Courtney or Sam didn't tell you?" "Uh no. They're not my friends, they're yours," Charlie could hear him grin and he felt his stomach drop. Bae; he remembered Claire teasing him about that, asking if she was his bae. Whoever he was here, this was his boyfriend. "Why?" Billy sounded mildly curious. Charlie put his forehead in his hand, then sat up. "Uh, nothing. I mean, something happened. Where I, uh, and the police...and...." "Oh yeah, Aiden said something about a thing with some girl and the police," his voice was casual. "That some girl....oh shit, that was you?" He couldn't think of anything to say. There was a long pause then, "Look, I've got to go," another long pause, "stay in touch." He threw the phone onto his pillow. Stay in touch? Jesus, where did that come from?! Panicking, he went out of the room, on some level needing to be as far away from the phone as possible. He found Mark in the kitchen making scrambled eggs. Kit was lounging on the sofa. "M-dad, I have a boyfriend?" They were both looking at her like she was crazy. --- He'd been up all night worrying about what clothes to wear. A new experience. His initial thoughts had skewed towards trousers and a lot of coverage. However, at about three in the morning, he'd started to worry that he'd stand out. Looking at the pictures tacked up on the wardrobe, the girls always seemed to be wearing skirts and dresses. After an hour of solemn contemplation, he'd laid out a black dress that was short, but not obscenely so and a pair of green leggings that were so thick they were near enough to trousers to stop him from hyperventilating. And to stop the world being his gynaecologist. Then he finally fell asleep. He woke to his phone buzzing. Taking a quick look, he saw it was a selfie containing Billy, Courtney and Sam. They were outside a house he didn't recognise. The caption read, 'wth u n 10 xxxx,' and had been sent from Courtney's phone. Shit, he jumped out of bed and rushed past Mark who he was sure only saw a pale pink blur. "And good morning to you," Mark managed to get out. "Sorry. Late," was the only explanation he got as Charlie slammed the door to the bathroom shut. The last week had seemed to last an age. It was the start of term and induction week. Seeing as it was mostly about milling around while you were signed up for various courses and shown where the toilets were, the college had waived his need to be there. At first, he'd been happy, he could just wait it out until things got back to normal. But the week had dragged on, and there were no signs that things were just going to right themselves. And he needed to get away from Mark, who insisted on treating him like he was so fragile a strong gust of wind would be it. When he came out of the shower, he could hear their voices from the living room. The male voice made him shiver. He'd told himself that he was only in this girl's life temporarily, and when what had gone wrong was discovered and put right, he'd be back in his, and she'd be back here. So he wasn't going to do anything to fuck things up for her, and hoped she'd be thinking the same. After dressing as quickly as he could, silently thanking the other Charlie for her choice of short hair, he headed to the living room. Sam was in the kitchen area talking to Mark, Courtney was in one of the arm chairs talking to a boy on the sofa. Charlie noted ruefully that both the girls were in jeans. The boy on the sofa was spread out, his legs wide, taking up half of it up on his own. When he saw Charlie he smiled, running a hand through his hair. "Hey," Charlie said, trying and failing to hide the fear in his voice. He'd spent most of the previous week coming up with excuses as to why he couldn't see this boy. Now there was no other option left. "Hey," the boy bounded up. Before Charlie knew what was happening he'd put his hands on Charlie's hips and pulled him into a kiss. The angle forced his head back and made Billy lift him slightly. It only lasted a few seconds but Charlie's face felt like it had its own internal furnace. There was a cough from the direction of the kitchen. "Sorry Mr Burke," Billy spoke to Mark, not letting go of Charlie. He looked very pleased with himself. As they were heading out the door, Mark stopped Charlie. "What?" Charlie couldn't hide his irritation. It had been a long week. "Put this on, it's cold for the time of year," he took a scarf and began tying it around his neck. Charlie could do nothing more than mutter, "Dad!" and try to avoid the eyes of the others. The walk was fine. The weather was cool for the time of year but the sky was clear. Billy and Cortney walked up front while Sam and Charlie hung back. "You missed a lot," Sam's eyes were bright with excitement, "but I'm sure you can catch up." Charlie just nodded. "They say we should call them by their first names," the lecturers she meant. She said it like she was admitting to having watched some great act of revolution. The building had changed a lot in the twenty-ish years since the last time Charlie had been there. A new, mostly glass centre had been built in between the two old Victorian buildings. As they entered they were surrounded by other teenagers. Charlie kept catching glances from different people, all of whom turned away, as if frightened she'd infect them with the sickness of standing out. Sam took her arm. "The common room is amazing. There's free wifi and a coffee machine." There was indeed. Billy bought them all a coffee. Charlie noticed the way Courtney fluttered her eyelashes when he passed her her latte. It made him feel a little put out, although he wasn't sure why. They went and found four empty chairs in one of the corners. As they settled down Billy put his arm around Charlie's shoulders. It took all his effort not to try and wriggle out. Sam sat on the other side. "Let's see what you've got," she grabbed his phone off of him, "English Lit this morning. That's with me." Sam beamed. Courtney looked over at her phone and then crossed her arms. "Why couldn't either of you have taken any sciences AS levels? Then, we could at least be sharing a class." Charlie wasn't sure he was sorry whoever he hadn't. Then, she rubbed her chin. "Art? I don't know anyone else doing that... sorry." Art? How had he ended up doing art? As a kid, he'd liked to draw comic books. When it was too long for one of his favourites to arrive, he'd make his own. But that had been the limits of his ambition in that area. "Ah fuck," Charlie felt Billy's hand tightening in his shoulder, "here comes freak." Billy had spoken so quietly that only Charlie had heard. He looked up and, after a few moments, spotted a short, thin boy heading their way. He had a face even Charlie would describe handsome. Wavy hair that had been placed into an almost quiff. His drain pipe arms had actually muscle definition which suggested he worked out. Even his chest was more pronounced than most boys that age. "Hey," the boy reached them. Only Sam smiled. Courtney and Billy looked uneasy. "Oh hey, Jo," Billy nodded curtly. "This is my cousin. Johan." A chorus of hi's from the girls accompanied by Billy's death grip on Charlie. --- Jo was surprised to see Billy's girl toy in his life drawing class that afternoon. The one who dressed like Mia Farrow but probably had no idea who that was. They didn't stand close but when their eyes met, she gave him a little nod of recognition. He didn't nod back. "Ok, everyone get in a circle," the lecturer, Dave, said. A couple of the students went to set up easels. "Not today. We're doing quick sketches today, see how you record perspective. Focus on just getting that information down." He began demonstrating the methods he wanted them to use, and Jo zoned out; he'd been the best in drawing at his school. "Now, get your boards. You know what to do." Charlie queued up with the others, unsure of what to do. Jo ended up behind her. "Charlie, right?" He didn't care, but felt saying nothing would be awkward. And get back to Billy and his family. Her eyes darted around. "Yeah." He hadn't noticed her talking to anyone. The model came in, there were a few gasps from some of the girls. One, who looked like she'd have a panic attack at anything less than an A+, raised her hand. "Mr. Kitchener.." "Dave. Mr. Kitchener is my dad." The lecturer smiled indulgently but his voice had an edge. They'd covered calling him Dave in the first class and the second. "What's wrong, Carly?" "Sir, Dave, he's a man!" Dave looked at his notes, to the amusement of the boys in class. "He would appear to be, yes." That got a smile of recognition from the model, 'Steve'. He was a man, somewhere in his twenties. Skinny and with a receding hairline. "I thought we were going to be drawing girls," said a boy in a baseball cap that was too large for him. He was dressed in the way white kids thought rappers dressed. There was a large sigh. "Can we just get on with it?" Everyone turned and looked. He'd noticed before how the others had been glancing at her. He'd assumed it was because she was cute. In that shallow way Billy liked. Dave seemed to stare at her like he thought she was going to explode. After a few seconds, he seemed to recover. "Right. Absolutely right, Charlie. I can call you Charlie?" The girl nodded like she was running the class. "Good. Let's get on with it." Dave instructed Steve to lie down on a raised platform in the middle of the room. It was covered in an old rug, presumably for Steve's comfort. The room fell silent when Steve took off his robe. All the boys trying desperately to look anywhere but at the obvious. After about five or ten minutes of instructing the model to lie with his arms and legs this way and that, Dave asked, "Can you hold that pose for an hour?" Steve shifted a little then nodded. "Right," Dave turned to the class, "pick a spot." They all hurried to a space around Steve. Jo picked a side view of his head. He was good at heads and faces and knew a side view would be the least challenging perspective wise. Looking up, he noticed Charlie had picked a spot opposite. Unlike him, she was sitting on the floor. He grabbed a stool. He wondered if she was used to wearing dresses that short as she was sat cross-legged. She was starting to draw when he noticed her suddenly put the board over her lap, and glare at the room. "OK, don't get settled. You've got ten minutes then we're changing positions," they started as Dave walked around them. He commented occasionally. When he got to Charlie, he muttered something about, "Don't try drawing everything. Think about what information you need." When he reached Jo, he stopped for longer. The hairs on the back of Jo's neck stood up. He always hated people looking over his shoulder. "You've been told to reduce everything to shapes haven't you?" Dave asked. "Yeah," he mumbled. "And a head looks like an egg." Jo just nodded in response. Dave took out his pencil and, in the air, followed the line of the top of Steve's face. "Doesn't look much like an egg does it?" He looked intently at Jo, who just shrugged. Even primary school kids knew a human head looked like an egg. Then you added noses and ears. "Right," Dave turned to the class, "everyone change over." Feeling a little hurt about being picked on, Jo headed to where Charlie had been. He'd give the side view of Steve's head another go. He noticed Charlie had laid down on the floor at the bottom of Steve's feet. The boy in the baseball cap walked past, doing little to disguise the fact he was checking out how her skirt had ridden up her bottom. Three of the A+ girls were giving her dirty looks. Jo just shrugged. He was too concerned with keeping his presumed spot at the top of the class to care what some dumb girl was up to. The exercise continued until each student had five drawings. After they were finished, Dave got them to stick their work up on the wall. They stood back and admired their work. Jo felt relieved; he was, by his own reckoning at least in the top five. "What's your favourite?" he asked Dave, cursing his own desperation even as he said it. Dave made a play of walking up and examining each drawing, then he turned to the class. "Can you all see Charlie's drawings?" Jo watched the redhead girl curl in on herself under the scrutiny. Her drawings, after the first, were simple line drawings. Three were just a single line. Sure, you could make out a toes or recognise the angle of the leg. They were starts, Jo guessed. But not much more. "These," said Dave, "are sketches. They have all the information you need to get the angle of the leg. The relationship between the top of the big toe and Steve's stomach. These," to Jo's horror, he pointed to one of his drawings and another by one of the A+ girls, "are pretty, but they're empty. They give you no information about Steve. Stop trying to make your work pretty." An hour later, as the class broke up, Jo sulked at the back. The rest of the afternoon had been better. They'd done a longer pose focusing on shadow and Dave had said he liked his use of colour. Which was something at least. Still, he wasn't going to admit that some line drawing was better than his sketches. He glanced up at Charlie who looked a lot happier than she did at the start. She was even talking to another girl. A long haired girl wearing a Nirvana t-shirt. "She's that girl, innit bruv," he turned to see the boy in the baseball cap. His attempts to sound South London failed to hide his Home Counties accent. "What girl?" Jo whispered back. Baseball cap looked at him like he was an idiot. "The Swan girl." Jo shook his head, not understanding what he meant. "The one who was raped in the Swan," he said slowly, like Jo was simple. Jo looked at her again. She looked so small. He shuddered. "Really?" "Truth, " then he held up his first to bump with Jo, "Kev." Jo half heartedly bumped fists with Kev. "Jo." Kev leaned in a whispered, "I heard she killed the guy." Jo looked back. Charlie had already left.