"It’s for you, love," said Lisa, handing the telephone receiver to her niece.

   "Thanks, Lisa…Hello?"

   "Hi, Charlotte.  It’s Bryony.  How are you?"

   "I’m okay – no thanks to you and your mates.  You couldn’t resist, could you?"

   "Resist what?"

   "Oh, come off it, Bryony.  You know exactly what I mean.  You’ve never liked me, and you couldn’t wait for the chance to stick the knife in."

   "Do you realise how childish you sound?"

   "And doing graffiti on toilet doors is mature, I suppose?"

   "That wasn’t me, and I don’t want to argue with you.  I’m sorry we’ve all been nasty to you lately, but what you did to Emma was pretty low."

   "And you rang me up, especially to tell me that?"

   "No, of course not.  I rang to ask if you’d come to the next 'SOS' meeting.  Emma’s okay about it now, and…"

   "Okay, I’ll do it – as long as Jessica can come, as well."

   "Jessica Burgess?"  The sense of disbelief in Bryony’s voice was unmistakable, and made Charlotte feel slightly sick.

   "That’s right.  I had tea at her place the other day.  She’s a really nice person."

   "Whatever – the more, the merrier, and all that.  It’s not as if my mum doesn’t keep plenty of air freshener in the house."

   Charlotte took a deep breath.  She wasn’t going to let Bryony push her around anymore.  "Jessica’s my friend, Bryony.  Don’t talk about her like that, please.  When’s the next meeting?" 

   Richard tried, initially, to talk to John, whom he’d known since the age of three.  "All right, John?"

   John looked spaced out, even by his standards.  He continued to stare straight past Richard.

   "Are you on something, mate?"

   But, of course, he wasn’t.  He was eyeing up Charlotte, who had just walked in, with Jessica Burgess.  The two girls were arm-in-arm, and laughing and joking, like the best friends that they now appeared to be.

   Rich approached the newcomers, who gave him the warmest reception that anyone had done since his arrival.

   Not that that was saying much. Emma had, again, been somewhat frosty.  Tracey and Donna had both blanked him.  Lauren had generously muttered a half-hearted, "Hello," but was clearly more interested in bickering with Tracey, at every conceivable opportunity.  Even Bryony seemed to be going out of her way to avoid him, although Rich attributed this partly to her still being in shock, after nearly losing her sister.  Who wouldn’t be?

   Rich still couldn’t think about that himself.  It was too raw.

   But Bryony was talking now, he realised, addressing them all, as a group.  She was reading out the first item on their "Agenda".

   "…and Tracey’s brother and sister have given me a demo of this specifically written song, which Bill, Fran and the rest of their band are willing to play live for us.  I thought that I might bring my oboe along.  I haven’t had time to rehearse, but I’m sure I can improvise."

   "Oh, goody.  Shall I bring my recorder?" said Charlotte.

   "Was that strictly necessary?" demanded Tracey.  "If you can’t say anything constructive, you might as well leave."

   "Leave it, Trace," warned Bryony.  She turned to Charlotte.  "If you’d like to bring your recorder, Charlotte, you’re welcome to do so.  Bring a toy whistle, if it makes you happy.  Now, next item: press releases.  I was hoping that these could go out to the local and national press, via first-class mail, the day before.  Further releases can be emailed on the morning itself and…"

   She was barely holding it together.  Richard realised that, as he watched Bryony, seemingly in full control of, not only this meeting, but all else around her.  She was wearing purple mascara.  Rich wondered if it was her sister’s.  Had to be - Jules was the only girl he knew who could wear purple mascara, and get away with it.  Although, actually, Bry didn’t look bad.

   Still, wasn’t really her though, was it?  For some reason, that bothered him.  Why did everyone spend so much time, pretending to be people who they weren’t?  Bry wasn’t Julie, and he certainly wasn’t Steve.

   "Richard, are you okay?"

   "Wh-what?  Oh, Charlotte.  Yes – yes, I’m fine."

   Rich realised that Bryony had finished talking.  Everyone else was chatting amongst themselves, and he’d just been standing around, looking like an idiot. 

   "Pepsi Max?"  Charlotte was handing him a can.

   He took the drink from her, and cracked it open with a vengeance.  He was thirsty.  "Thanks."

   "No worries.  Have you signed yet?"

   "Signed what?"

   "The petition – the one that Bryony was just talking about – the one that we’re going to send to Barney and…"

   "Oh, that.  Yeah, I signed it weeks ago."

   "You’re not 'fine', Rich," stated Charlotte.  "Are you?"

   Rich shrugged.

   "Is it you dad?  Or Steve?"

   "No."

   "Julie?"

   "Of course not.  Listen, Charlotte, I don’t mean to be rude…"

   "Since when has that bothered you, Rich?  Listen, I’m your mate, right?  If you ever need to talk, I’m here.  Let’s just leave it at that."

   "Thanks, Charlie."  Rich meant that, too.

   "It’s not a question of thanking me.  We are friends, aren’t we?"

   "Of course we are."

   "Well, then."  And, that said, off she went, to "save" her other friend, from the clutches of Lauren, with whom Jessica had been chatting for the past few minutes.  Jess was evidently unaware of the health risks involved in having anything to do with Lauren "Toxic" Taylor.

   Richard smiled to himself.  That was what Charlotte has used to call her, and it was appropriate.  Lauren was twisted, venomous – always had been.

   Charlotte had been right about, not only that, but considerably more besides than Rich had given her credit for.