Authors: Lesley Cheetham
Mum was always on Skype. Tess and I had tried it a few times but had spent the whole time laughing at the sight of each other. I
doubted whether Michael would have that effect on me.
I left Mum to
get on with her work. I went to the fridge and studied the array of wine bottles lined up in the door. I glanced over my shoulder. Mum was on the phone now. The pink coloured one was half empty. The bottle was icy to touch. I poured myself a small glass and took it up to my room.
I typed out the address which had burned itself into my memory into Google maps. While I waited for the site to open I pulled the photograph out of my back pocket. It was a passport sized picture of a woman with dark skin and shoulder length black hair. I had never seen her before.
I turned the small square over.
The name Nora was written on the back. I took the other photograph out, deliberately not looking at the unfamiliar smiles of my parents and pushed them both into the box with all my other dad stuff under the bed. I turned my attention back to the computer. Did I really want to make contact? Hesitation only lasted for a second. I had to find out exactly who my dad was and what he was up to.
CHAPTER 7
‘Don’t tell me – you’ve got a homework project. Read as many newspapers as possible this weekend! You’ve forgotten the
Financial Times
.’
Our local newsagent thought he was hilarious. Irritating is how I would describe his stupid jokes. If there was a nearer shop, I’d be there. As it was, I gritted my teeth and pretended to smile as he packed a copy of each of this morning’s papers into a carrier bag.
At home I spread the newspapers around the floor. The word
MIRIAM
was all over the front pages. I propped myself up onto my elbows and started to read.
The family of murdered teenager Miriam Jackson last night appealed to witnesses to come forward.
‘There must be someone, somewhere, who saw her on the train from Marylebone.’ Police confirmed that evidence from CCTV cameras at the station was being looked at. Miriam was described by her
Headteacher from the local comprehensive in Keston as ‘a delightful girl, who was popular and very gifted in drama. She will be missed by everyone at Keston school.’
Miriam, 15, had been spending the weekend at a drama school in London, where she had won a
place on an acting course. All students on the weekend course were staying at the Travelodge, which is adjacent to the hotel. The girl who shared a room with Miriam said that she seemed to be enjoying the weekend, and they’d made plans to stay in touch.
Miriam had been due back in
Keston on Sunday evening. She texted a friend to say she was leaving London Marylebone at 4.30pm. and although her bike was collected from Keston station, she never arrived at her destination. Buckinghamshire police received a phone call from a man at 7.30am the following morning saying that he had found the body of a young girl in a field. The police took the man’s statement but, distracted by the arrival of an ambulance, he disappeared before the policeman could take down his details. The man was described as clean shaven, with short dark hair and blue eyes. He was wearing running clothes as he had been out for a morning run.
Police appealed once again for the unidentified male who reported the body being missing to come forward. Detective Inspector Andy Summerfield said, ‘We would like to be able to eliminate this person from our enquiries.’
By the time I had read through everything that was written about Miriam the newsprint was wriggling like ants in front of my eyes. I closed my eyes and lay back on the floor.
I called up a map of England to see exactly where Keston was. It was pretty near Amersham and less than thirty minutes from London on the train. I double-checked the date. Yes, it was the same date that Mum had met up with Michael. That was a bit of a coincidence.
I took Gran’s photograph out of my bag and studied it again, before hiding it with my dad stash under the bed.
My stomach made an embarrassing growling noise. I went downstairs and peered in the fridge. There was a piece of pizza on a plate left over from the other day, so I ate that. The cheese was yummy and gooey and I realised I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. I was going over in my mind what on earth I was going to say to Michael. What do you say to someone who walked out on you fifteen years ago? He wouldn’t recognise me, obviously. I wandered over to the bookcase and took down the photograph album that Mum had kept when I was younger. There were no photos of Michael, a few of Mum and I together but the rest were all me. Gran had taken most of these photos. I turned to the pages when I was about ten. I was standing on a country gate, wearing cut off denim shorts and a green t-shirt with Minnie Mouse on it. My hair was in plaits and the sun was shining on me, making my hair look golden and interesting. I had freckles on my nose and a scowl on my face. I looked angry even then.
I put the album down and stood and looked at my fifteen year old face in the mirror. The freckles had all but disappeared, and my hair was no longer blonde but I had been dying it red for ages. ‘Scarlet Power’ was the
shade it was supposed to be. It fell just below my shoulders. Naturally it was a kind of nondescript colour. It was pretty straight so it was no trouble to emulate Sadie’s red bob, but my eyes were deep set and I hated them. Hers were large and her eyelashes were like thick spiders. I tried to imagine how I would look to someone seeing me for the first time. My stomach lurched. Was I really going to let my father into my life?
My phone buzzed.
Facebook update. I clicked on the link and waited. And waited. I must speak to Mum about getting a new phone. This one was positively roman. I would be a much better detective with the right gear. It was a post from Sadie. My heart quickened. I hoped I hadn’t missed anything while I was obsessing over Michael.
Loving my new Gucci shades.
Thanks mum I love you...
There was a photo posted. I made it as big as I could. I wanted those glasses. I scrolled through the rest of her page. AJ was still listed as her boyfriend, and there was no mention of Mystery Man. I closed her page then set about finding those shades. It didn’t take me long to find the exact same pair.
£225.
Jeez
. Might as well go down town now and see if I could find anything similar.
Exactly one hour later I was outside Sadie’s house, Gucci shades perched on my nose, cap on my head, hiding my distinctive hair. Now I had no birthday money left. I hadn’t had a chance to check the shades in the mirror but they were good and big for a girl detective to hide behind, and I was wearing Mum’s long black mac as dark clouds glowered overhead. I hoped I looked like an escaped celebrity.
I soon
realised I wasn’t alone. A man clad in leather was sitting astride a motorcycle along the street, slightly along from Sadie’s house on the other side of the road. He was drumming his fingers on the handlebars. He was tall and stockily built. I wondered what he was doing. He appeared to be waiting for someone. He turned his head and caught my eye. I hesitated, then headed towards him. Close up he was much older than I had realised, with peppery stubble and dark shades covering his eyes.
‘Yeah?’ he asked, firing the word out like a bullet. I swallowed,
then went for it.
‘I don’t suppose you know someone called Sadie, do you?’ I babbled, ‘only she invited me round and I can’t remember what number she said she lived at.’
‘Sadie?’ he said and turned his head to face me. I could see my reflection in his glasses. He took his helmet off of the handle bar. ‘Can’t help you love,’ he said and pulled the helmet over his face. He turned the ignition key and the bike roared away from the kerb, the pressure forcing me to stumble back onto the pavement. I watched as the bike disappeared round the corner. Funny that, as soon as I mentioned the name Sadie he had driven off. Why was he in such a hurry?
chapter 8
It took me precisely three minutes to find out the name of Miriam’s friend. Helen
Branning. Either my detection skills were improving, or the internet just made things too damn easy. Miriam’s school site had an extremely enlightening chat forum. Helen was in Year eight at Keston Secondary School and had been Miriam’s best friend. Although Miriam was in year ten, they had met at the drama club they both attended on Saturdays. Her address was also mentioned on Facebook. Job done, I turned my attention to Sadie.
It crossed my mind that now that I had a real mystery to
solve, I didn’t need to use Sadie as a guinea pig any more. It had become a bit of a habit though. The first time I had logged into Sadie’s email account was like unveiling a box of treasures. The best part was her fashion blog
SadieStyle
where she posted daily tips on what to wear. It didn’t take me long to get hooked – choosing what to wear every day was such a pain.
Dressing like Sadie was pretty easy. I just followed the tips on her fashion blog.
Maybe next I’d learn how to get a boyfriend. I wondered who this Mystery Man was. He sure as hell wasn’t AJ. Was he the leather man with the motorcycle? The answer had to lie in Sadie’s Facebook contacts. I spent ages scrolling through her friends. Nothing there.
I
went back into her email account and spent the next hour reading any personal emails. My eyes were drying out and I was about to give up when I noticed a message from someone called ‘T.’ I hadn’t noticed it before.
Hi Babe
,
don’t forget I’m picking you up from your place at 4. Don’t be late
.
Nothing incriminating, but I checked the date. I was right! It was the day I had followed Sadie home from the café and first seen Mystery Man. I wrote down ‘T’ and the number plate I had for the car. Then I went further back into Sadie’s emails. There was only one.
Happy Families!
it said.
What did that mean? Sadie hadn’t replied.
I sat back, tugging at my hair. I went back on to Facebook and searched through Sadie’s contacts again. No Ts which would fit. I snapped the laptop shut and rubbed my eyes. How was I going to find out who he was?
I stroked the pink casing of my new phone. It was a deep crimson kind of pink, more of a raspberry than a blackberry. Mum had agreed to buy me a new phone and one hour later I was in the phone shop. Jason the phone man had tried his best to persuade me to buy a different kind of phone, but I had to have the exact same one as Sadie.
I practiced typing a few messages, positioning my fingers in the exact same way as Sadie. The tap
tap sound made me feel good, closer to her.
A high tech ping made me jump and nearly drop the phone. Ping meant email. I hoped it was from Tess so that I could show off my new phone. The sender’s email address jumped off the screen into my brain
:
[email protected]
. OMG! My hand was trembling as I pressed the button to open it. It was short and to the point.
Hi Jasmine, I’ll be on Skype at 5pm today and every day this week until I hear from you.
Can’t wait, lots of love, Dad.
I looked at my watch. It was 4.30pm. I read the email again.
And again. It definitely said five o’clock. I lay down on my bed and closed my eyes. I felt a bit panicky and took some deep breaths, like they did on Casualty. I could do with a handsome doctor coming to my rescue. I was actually going to speak to Michael.
At ten minutes to five I was logged on and waiting. There was no question of waiting another twenty-four hours. My heart would fail from anxiety. My face was cold, my hands clammy. Suddenly a little box lit up in the corner.
Michael is online. Connect with Michael?
I took a deep breath and clicked on ‘Connect.’ The screen flickered and I closed my eyes. When I opened them it felt like magic. Michael was on the screen looking at me. He looked surprised for a moment,
then smiled. I stared back.
‘Jasmine,’ he said, ‘It’s really you isn’t it?’
I nodded like an idiot. Thoughts were racing through my head:
Of course it’s me. Not that you would know what I look like. When was it you last saw me? Oh yes, when I was a baby. I’ve changed quite a bit since then. I don’t dribble as much anymore. You walked out and didn’t come back, how could I forget?
My insides felt like ice. Even without the beard the face looking back at me was definitely the one I’d seen on the television, and in numerous newspapers ever since. Why had nobody seen him? His eyes were the same shape as mine.
‘Jasmine,’ he burbled, ‘I can see you’re in shock. Caroline said it was alright to get in touch with you. I’d like to see you.’
Was I really going to do this? Images flashed through my head – Gran shouting, Mum crying, Miriam Jackson’s picture staring out of the newspaper, haunting me. Who was this man? I had last seen him on
Crimewatch
.
‘I’d like the chance to explain to you.’
‘Whatever,’ I said.
‘The thing is, my partner – and I . . .’ he hesitated for a moment, or was it the connection – ‘we’re in the process of relocating to England. We’ve been in France for the past month, staying with her family in Lille, and we’re spending the last weekend in Paris before we leave, and we thought you might like to join us in Paris?’ He paused again, running his tongue around his lips. He looked nervous. ‘Have you ever been to Paris?’
I wanted to shake my head but I was frozen into position.
Partner? Paris?
He was speaking again, his voice less confident, speeded up. ‘ . . . so would you like to come with us? It would be easier if you met us over there on the Saturday. That’s the 26th July. Then if you want you can come back to our new house after, although you might have had enough of us by then.’ He laughed, he sounded nervous. ‘Or you can come back to London and stay with your friend. Jess, isn’t it?’
‘Tess,’ I muttered.
‘You’ll love it in Paris.’ I rolled my eyes – what did he know about what I like?
‘You can get a direct train from St
Pancras, I’ll meet you at the other end. I’ll email you a timetable - you choose the train you want to get and I’ll book the tickets for you. First class. My treat.’ He stopped as if he’d run out of air, chewing at his lip. It gave me a jolt. I had that same annoying habit.
‘We can’t wait to see you,’ he added.
Big mistake. As far as I was concerned his new wife – Mum’s replacement – was an insult and an inconvenience. I looked away.
‘Well,’ he said, running his fingers through his hair. I felt a huge pang of sadness and a shot of excitement at the same time, twisting my insides.
I refused to meet his eyes after that. I could feel his, however, boring into my head.
‘Jasmine, look at me,’ he said. My eyes were fixed on the keyboard. ‘I’ve got so much to tell you, but not like this. I want to talk to you in person, not via a screen.’ The image flickered in and out of focus. I adjusted the camera a little. I wasn’t done with him yet. Was I slipping from his view too?
‘I can’t talk about it now Michael,’ I said. ‘I haven’t got time. Email me the details about tickets and I’ll let you know when I’m coming.’ I paused. ‘
If
I’m coming,’ I said and switched him off.