The Role Model: A shocking psychological thriller with several twists Daniel Hurst (moboreader txt) 📖

the roundabout. I used music to help me get over the disappointment of finding out that he wouldn’t be around anymore, and it worked. I soon forgot about him, just like Mum seemed to forget about him too.

Letting out a deep sigh, I give up on trying to read any more passages in this textbook and instead decide that I am going to get some fresh air. It’s only a five minute walk to the corner shop, and I need refreshments if I am going to get through another few hours of revision in between bouts of paranoia, regret and deep thinking about Rupert and where he is now.

Opening my bedroom door, I know that Mum is out at work, but that doesn’t mean I don’t listen out for any noises just in case she has returned unexpectedly without me hearing her. But the house is silent, so I leave my room and trot down the stairs, only stopping to pull on my jacket before leaving the house and locking the front door.

It feels good to be out in the sunlight, although it is admittedly rather pale sunlight that is peeping through the puffy white clouds that always seem to be hanging over this part of the world. I’m in no rush to get to the shop and back, instead opting to take my time because every second I am out here is one more second away from that revision. I also find it easier to dispel the thoughts of Rupert when I am outside, as if the fresh air is somehow a mild antidote to the torment of knowing something about myself that would disgust anyone else who knew it.

As I turn the street corner, the shop comes into view up ahead, and I think about what I might treat myself to with the £3.50 I have jangling around in the bottom of my purse. A can of something fizzy is a given, but I’m not sure whether to pair it up with crisps or chocolate yet, and I’m still debating that as I enter the shop and walk past the bald Indian man behind the counter.

In the end, I opt for crisps and pick up a large packet of cheese & onion before grabbing a cold can from the fridge and turning back to the counter. But as I do, I see the stack of newspapers beside it, and it’s impossible to avoid reading what’s on the front page.

MYSTERY OF MISSING TEEN – PARENTS APPEAL AGAIN FOR HELP

The headline is accompanied by what is now the familiar photo of Rupert that has been widely circulated and used in all the reports surrounding his disappearance. It’s a picture of him taken on a family holiday last summer and shows him smiling as he stands in front of a brilliant blue sea. I must have seen that photo a hundred times over the last week, although it still hasn’t replaced the lasting image I have of Rupert in my mind; the one of his lifeless face on the ground, eyes open and staring soullessly back at me.

I don’t think anything will get rid of that one.

‘Terrible, isn’t it?’

I’m snapped out of my daydream by the words from the shopkeeper, and I see him shaking his head as he looks at the stack of newspapers nearby.

‘I was hoping there would be some good news by now. But it doesn’t seem like it,’ he adds as I place my items on the counter between us.

‘Yeah,’ I reply as I fish in my purse for the required money, and I’m happy that the man has nothing else to add as I pay him and take my items out of the shop.

Back out on the street, I do my best to shake the image of Rupert’s photo from my mind and try to think about something more comforting. After hopefully passing my exams and getting the grades I require, I will soon be able to leave this town as I go to university, and with it the memory of what has happened here. I have no doubt that things will become a little easier once I am in a new place, far away from things that can remind me of my past. It will be a fresh start, in more ways than one, and I look forward to it, almost as much as I look forward to tucking into my snacks when I get back home.

I’m back on my street again and only about a minute away from my front door when I hear the scrape of a shoe on the tarmac of the pavement behind me. Turning around, I see a man in his mid-twenties walking towards me, and I can’t help but notice how scruffy he is as I turn back around and carry on my way. But then I notice that he is now walking alongside me, and I’m not sure whether to slow down or speed up to avoid any awkward interaction when he makes that decision for me.

‘Hi, Chloe.’

I stop walking immediately and look at the man, trying to figure out who he is and how he knows my name.

‘I’m sorry. Do I know you?’ I ask, unable to place him.

‘No, but you do now. My name’s Jimmy, and I’m the man who knows your dirty little secret.’

I say nothing as I rack my brains for any way that he might know what that secret is. He is too old to be at my college so he can’t have been at the house party that night. And as far as I knew, there was nobody else at the park when I was there with Rupert, other than my mum, who turned up a little later. So maybe I’m okay. Then again, what other dirty little secret could he be referring to if not Rupert?

‘What are you talking about?’ I ask, deciding that’s the best thing to say in this situation.

‘I’m talking about the missing lad that everybody is looking