The Roommates. Rachel Sargeant

      “Nothing,” Phoenix mutters. Pointless explaining; a girl like Tegan could never understand the concept of housework.

      As if to prove her wrong, Tegan collects glasses and bottles and pours the contents down the sink. “No sign of Amber, though, is there? When’s she going to do her share?”

      “What if she can’t help?” Imo says suddenly, letting go of the bin bag. “Have either of you seen her?”

      Tegan shrugs and Phoenix shakes her head. She got no reply when she knocked on Amber’s door earlier after she’d delivered another parcel to Riku, the third one since he moved in.

      “What if someone’s got her?” Imo’s voice wavers.

      “Got her? Where did that come from all of a sudden?” Tegan leans her back against the sink.

      “I think there’s a stalker on campus.” Imo speaks in a rush, clenching her fists and pumping them in and out of her sweatshirt sleeves. “A man followed me after my audition. I shook him off, but when I got here he was across the road. And it’s not the first time I’ve seen him.”

      Phoenix’s thoughts go straight to the figure at Ivor’s party. “In his thirties, dark hoodie?”

      “That’s him,” Imo exclaims. “Has he followed you, too?” She looks at Tegan. “I saw him watching you on arrivals day. Have you seen him?”

      The colour drains from Tegan’s face and she turns back to the glasses in the sink. “Must be a friend of Ivor’s,” she mutters weakly.

      “I doubt it. Probably a gatecrasher.” Phoenix remembers how he spilled Ivor’s drink and didn’t apologize. “I think he’s a student, though. He was at the Freshers’ Fair.”

      “My God.” Imo sinks onto a chair. “That’s the last time we saw Amber. What are we going to do?”

      “Nothing.” Tegan whips round, a flash of annoyance in her eye. “Phoenix has just told you he’s a student, not a stalker.”

      “But he was down there, under a tree, smoking.” Imo points out of the window.

      “Where else is he supposed to bloody smoke? Why shouldn’t he be outside? He probably lives here.”

      “But …”

      “Enough, Imogen. You can’t go around accusing people of stalking. You’re being paranoid.” Tegan waves a rubber-gloved finger. “This stops now.” She turns back to the sink.

      Not wanting to take sides, Phoenix picks up the bin bag and continues to fill it. Imo sits on a chair, looking as if she’s trying not to cry. No one speaks. Eventually the silence is broken by the ripple of a text message on Imo’s phone.