Now You See Me (20 page)

“And that's my advice to you, Ms Radcliffe,” he says, with the briefest glance back in Danny's direction. “Just let the whole damn thing go.”

Ten days later I'm standing in the lunch queue with Lianna and Vicky when Ed Billington rushes in, cheeks flushed with excitement.

“Fight!” he yells to a group of boys sitting around the neighbouring table. “Danny Geller and Ross Jacobs. Main playground.”

Those with packed lunches gather them up and hurry out. Others bolt their food in huge mouthfuls before diving out the door. By the time I make it outside, a small circle has formed around the fighting boys. I push my way to the front. Danny is sitting astride Ross, his hands pinned around his throat.

“Gerroff,” Ross gurgles. “You're strangling me.”

Before I can even think what to do, Danny releases his neck, then picks him up by the scruff of his shirt and bangs his head against the ground. At that moment Zach Brandon launches himself at Danny, knocking him flying. Ross jumps up and delivers a sharp kick to his side. Danny makes a sort of
urgfff
noise and curls up in a ball, his face a contortion of pain.

“What the hell is going on?”

Mr Brading pushes through the crowd and pulls Danny to his feet. He's pale, bent over, gasping.

Ross looks shamefaced. “He started it, sir.” He nods at Danny. “He…he called my sister a…”

He doesn't finish.

“Spare me the details for the moment,” Mr Brading barks. “Both of you, inside.”

He yanks Danny towards the entrance to the dining hall, but Danny pulls away, kneels down, and throws up all over the grass.

Ross Jacobs gets away with bruises and a small lump on the back of his head. Danny is taken to the sickroom, and then on to hospital when the vomiting doesn't stop. I pick Alice up from school and when Martha brings him back it's hard to say which of them looks worse. Martha's face is crumpled with exhaustion and worry, Danny's pallor a vivid contrast to the large darkening bruise on his cheekbone.

If he notices me, he doesn't show it – just pushes through the kitchen and heads upstairs. There's a distinct clunk as his bedroom door slams shut.

Martha sinks onto a chair and stares into space.

“Is he okay?” I ask.

“I think so,” she nods. “I didn't actually get to speak to the doctor – Danny insisted on going in on his own. But they did a scan and apparently there are no major injuries.”

“You don't exactly look relieved,” I hazard.

Martha shakes her head. “No. Yes. I mean, I'm sure he's fine. It's just…” She stops.

“Just what?”

She sighs deeply, choosing her words carefully. “I don't know how to describe it, Hannah. He's so… He won't let me anywhere near him. Won't let me help. I wanted to talk to the doctor, but he…” Tears spring to her eyes and she tries to blink them away. “He swore at me. Told me to mind my own bloody business. But I'm his mother, for god's sake. I just don't understand.”

I stand there, not knowing what to say. Martha wipes her eyes and turns to me. “Hannah, do you think… I was wondering if you've noticed anything different…”

“About Danny, you mean?”

Martha nods. “I simply wanted to ask if… Oh, I don't know.” She rakes her hand through her hair. “It's just that he's so…”

I think about what to say. I think about Danny banging Ross's head against the ground. I think about the look on his face when he did it, the way his lips curled back from his teeth, the terrible energy in his expression.

How can I tell Martha I'm sure her son's been mixed up in something bad? That the Danny we knew is not the Danny we're getting to know now?

“Mummy!”

Alice bounds into the room and throws herself around her mother's neck. Martha nuzzles her face into hers, hiding her tears. “Hello, darling.”

Alice wriggles. “Tickles,” she laughs.

Martha smiles, but Alice places her hands on her cheeks and peers right into her eyes. “You sad?”

Her mother takes a deep breath. “Of course not, silly. Come on, let's get some supper on, shall we? How about a treat? What would you like…pizza?”

Martha goes in to see the head the next afternoon; Ross Jacobs's parents have already been. There's talk of exclusion, but as no one can establish exactly who or what started it, and with exams about to begin in a week or so, Mr Givens just suspends both of them for three days.

There are plenty of rumours, of course, but Ross refuses to give any more details.

Which is odd. Ross isn't the kind of boy to get himself into a fight – not like Luke Devenish or Alex Howarth or any of that gang. Ross is one of the quiet ones.

Even more odd is that Ross used to be one of Danny's best friends.

“I thought you might want these.”

Danny doesn't even raise his eyes from the TV as I hand him the science revision sheets.

“Thanks.” He tosses them onto the coffee table without a glance. I look for any sign that he's been studying, but there are no notes, no textbooks, nothing.

“When are you coming back?” I ask.

“Where?”

“School. Your suspension's over, isn't it?”

His shoulders shrug. “Exams start next week. Mum said I may as well study at home. Make sure I'm okay.”

He goes back to ignoring me. I grit my teeth. Remind myself again how hard this is for him.

I'm about to give up and leave when my eye is caught by something on the TV screen. Two little kids running round a garden in swimming costumes, someone trying to spray them with a hose.

It's not a TV programme, I realize with a jolt. The kids are Danny and me, short and lanky, cheeks covered in freckles. Now Danny's chasing me with what looks like a worm suspended between his fingers, a gleeful expression on his face. I'm running away, squealing, but laughing too.

The image shudders as someone adjusts the camera. Martha, I'm guessing. She videoed nearly everything Danny and Alice ever did. I feel my spirits lift a little. Glad, I suppose, that he's even bothering to watch them.

Maybe I've been too harsh on him, I think. Maybe Danny cares more than he likes to show.

“You going to go through all of those?” I nod at the box of old VHS tapes by the sofa.

“Mum wants to get them digitized,” Danny says. “I'm checking them for her, seeing what's on each one. She never remembers to label them properly.”

I stare, fascinated, as the hosepipe scene cuts to a pool with half a dozen boys racing down the lanes. The swimming gala. The one where Danny won his first cup.

“Are you going to take it up again?” I ask.

“What?”

“The swimming.”

Danny swings round and actually looks at me. “Why do you want to know?”

I shrug. “Just curious.”

“The answer is no, I don't think so.”

On the screen, a younger version of Danny hauls himself out the pool, his smile wide and his face glowing with pride. Martha's head bobs into view as she hugs him.

“Don't you miss it? The competitions and stuff?”

“Give it a rest, won't you?” Danny growls. “You're beginning to sound just like Martha.”

I frown.
Martha?
Did I hear that right?

“Anyway, I can't,” he says. “It hurts my back.”

“Your back? Since when?”

Danny turns to face me, his features taut with irritation. “Hannah, for god's sake, stop interrogating me, okay?”

I pull my gaze away from the screen and stare at him. See the hostility in his eyes and remember Joe's advice.

Just let the whole damn thing go.

But something inside won't let me. “You're not worried about Ross then?”

Danny's jaw stiffens as he struggles to keep his cool. “Ross was fine – there's nothing to worry about.”

I let him stew for a minute or two. Voices on the TV, one of them Danny's. His old voice – or rather his younger one – higher-pitched and brighter somehow.

I keep my eyes on the Danny right in front of me, refusing to be distracted. “What was it about then, the fight with Ross?”

His eyes flash towards me and away again. He sucks his teeth before he answers. “Nothing.”

“But I saw you bang his head against the ground. It can't have been
nothing
…”

“Listen,” Danny says, his voice rising. “I told you, Hannah, just butt out, okay? It was simply a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding? But he was your
friend
, Danny,” I persist, determined to break through to him, to force him to open up to me. “How could you…?”

“Fuck off, Hannah.”

I stare at him, stunned. Did he really just say that?

Danny turns back to the TV. I inhale slowly, my breath shaky, and turn to leave. Stop when I hear a voice. A woman's voice. Oh god…

I look back at the screen and there she is. Fair hair tied back in a ponytail, a twist of green glass beads around her neck.

The beads I have in the box under my bed.

Paul standing to one side of her, Martha and Dad the other. They've all got glasses in their hands, tall drinks with coloured straws, and they're laughing at something off camera.

She looks into the lens and smiles, says something about getting a sandwich. Then a much smaller version of me runs into the picture and throws myself at her knees. Mum staggers back, laughing.

A pain flares through me, sharp and hot, and tears prick my eyes. Oh god. Mum. I haven't seen her for so long. All I have are the few pictures I rescued before Dad hid them away in the loft.

“Turn it off,” I hiss, swallowing hard.

Danny doesn't move.

“TURN IT OFF!”

“Why?” Danny's hand hovers over the remote as he studies my face. For a moment I think I see the faintest hint of a smile on his.

I don't bother to answer. Just walk straight out the house and into the garden, heat and humiliation coming off me in waves.

How could he? I want to scream as I gasp in fresh air and fight back the tears?
How could he do that?

Because Danny knows what happened to Mum. And how much it hurt. And how there isn't a day when I don't feel like my life somehow ended with hers.

There's no way he could have forgotten that. No way at all.

I ride a tidal swell of emotion, anger and grief and pain, all cresting together. And with it a sudden awareness. Danny doesn't care any more. Not about me. Not about Alice or Rudman or Ross or anyone.

That much is clear.

The question is why? I don't know, I think, wiping my eyes. Forcing myself to breathe, to calm myself down. I have absolutely no idea what happened to make Danny this way.

But I do know one thing: I am damn well going to find out.

“Are you really sure about this, Hannah? I can still cancel.”

Dad rolls up his trousers and shirts, lining them side by side in his suitcase like enormous sausages. He swears it keeps out the creases. He's a very tidy packer considering the mess he's happy to live in.

“I said it's fine, Dad. Really.”

Dad looks doubtful. I know he feels bad about leaving right before my exams, but it's not often he gets offered a lecture stint in America. And I'm glad he's got his career back on track – after Mum died, Dad barely worked for nearly six months. He was lucky the university held his job open.

“It's only four weeks,” I add. “I'm just going to be revising anyway.”

Dad looks at me as he lines up the sleeves on another shirt. “And you're okay staying with Martha and Paul?”

“Of course I am. Anyway, Lianna said I could go to hers if I need a break.”

“I still wish you were coming with me,” Dad says wistfully, pausing to stare out the window at the lilac tree blossoming in the neighbours' garden. Homesick even before he leaves.

“Me too. But I'll be fine here. Really.”

The truth is, I'm quite relieved I can't go. I did once, just for a week, the year before Mum died. It was fun at first – the malls and freeways and the sheer size of everything – but once I was over the novelty, I got really bored. I didn't know anyone on campus, so all the time Dad was working I ended up watching TV – all five hundred channels of it.

Besides, I'm glad of an excuse to stay at Dial House. I can keep an eye on Danny. Try and figure out what's going on with him.

Dad sighs then nods, looking both guilty and slightly relieved. He may have doubts about going, but I know he loves meeting all those biology geeks and talking about stuff the rest of us would never understand.

He lowers the lid over the suitcase to see if it will close. It's touch and go. Dad chews his bottom lip, examining the pile of clothes still left on the bed.

I laugh. “They do have washing machines over there, you know.”

Dad grimaces. “Hannah…” He hesitates, looks back out at the wilderness of our garden, the tangle of plants and grass gaining momentum in the early summer heat. I've given up worrying about it – it all dies back again in winter.

“I was thinking,” he says, “when I get back, maybe you and I should have a talk.”

“What about?”

Dad looks shifty, his eyes unable to settle on mine. He scrapes a hand through his tangle of hair. “You're sixteen, you're growing up. There are a few things I should explain. Things you have a right to know.”

He's thought about what I asked him outside the supermarket, I conclude. He must be planning to tell me what went on with Martha and Paul.

“Why not now?” I ask, feeling the need to know right away.

Dad swings his gaze back to mine. Really looks at me for once. “Let's wait till after your exams, love. Then I thought maybe we could go away somewhere for a few days. You deserve a treat and I could do with a break.”