Now You See Me (28 page)

“Sorry. I was round at a friend's,” I fib, feeling relieved I missed her. I doubt I could have explained away the state I was in when I got home – clothes soaked, freezing cold, a gash on my ankle that I had to cover with some gauze and an old bandage I found in the bathroom cabinet.

But none of that as painful as having to wait till morning to be here. I spent half the night plotting how to get into Paul and Martha's bedroom, anxious to see if there's anything in what Eric said. And the other half dreading what's going to happen when Martha discovers that “Danny” has gone.

Clearly she doesn't know yet. We wouldn't be standing here, having this awkward conversation, if Martha had a clue. With Eric often out late and sleeping well into the morning, she must be assuming her son is still in bed.

“Have you phoned your dad?” Martha asks, studying my face. Probably wondering why I'm here.

I nod. Easier than lying outright.

She pulls Alice away from me and scoops her hair into a neat ponytail, securing it with a band. Alice winces and scowls, then sticks her tongue out at me for good measure.

For a moment I hesitate. It's stuff like this that makes a family, I recognize – normal families doing normal things. It makes me think of Eric. Where he is now and what he'll do next. Where he'll go.

“I need to talk to you.” I keep my voice calm and steady and look Martha straight in the eyes.

She returns my gaze, her expression devoid of emotion, then glances up at the clock. My timing is perfect – Alice has to be in school in ten minutes and Paul has already left.

“All right.” She ushers a sullen Alice towards the door. “Wait here till I get back.”

The moment the sound of the car engine fades, I go straight up to Martha and Paul's bedroom. The key is in the drawer in Martha's bedside table, exactly as Eric said. A plain gold key, smaller than my little finger.

Kneeling on the carpet, I part the dresses and skirts in the wardrobe to reveal a small metal cabinet with a lock. It's well hidden, though I'm surprised I never stumbled across it in one of those games of hide-and-seek. I pull it towards me, then slide in the key and feel a slight click as it turns. Lift the lid carefully and peer inside.

A dozen or so files hang from a ridge on each side of the cabinet. I flick through them, glancing at the documents they contain. Birth certificates, exam certificates. Danny's and Alice's medical notes. Nothing here that anyone might want to keep secret. I check them all again, making sure there's nothing I've missed.

So Eric was just winding me up. Playing me one last time.

But as I shove the box back into the wardrobe, I glimpse something below the files, crammed into the thin cavity beneath. I reach in and my hand closes around a small brown envelope. I lift it out carefully. The flap isn't sealed. I remove a thin pile of papers.

The first is a cutting from a newspaper, folded in half. My heart misses a beat as I open it up. I'm staring at a grainy, black-and-white picture of my mother. She's smiling, and scrunching up her eyes slightly, like she's looking into the sun.

Underneath, a headline:
Mother, 42, Dies in Freak River Accident
. It's dated 11th October five years ago – a week after my mother's death.

I scan the paragraphs below, skin tingling. I know what happened already, can still hear Dad explaining it to me, his voice shaky with shock, after the police had left. How Mum had been driving in the rain and had lost control at a bend, skidding off the road and into the flooded river. How the seat belt had jammed and she hadn't been able to get free before the car filled with water.

But the last paragraph chokes back the breath in my throat. “The coroner gave a verdict of accidental death on Wednesday, despite several witness reports that Ellen Radcliffe was experiencing marital difficulties, and had been distressed in the days running up to her death. The coroner, however, was adamant that there was no evidence of suicide.”

Marital difficulties? What did they mean? Mum and Dad had always been happy, hadn't they?

Then I remember. The argument, the one I'd overheard down in the kitchen right before the accident. Dad's raised voice. The sound of Mum sobbing. Everything that happened later was so awful that I'd almost forgotten all about it. Hadn't understood it was so serious.

Hands shaking, I unfold the other piece of paper. Blink hard as my vision goes blurry when I recognize my mother's handwriting.

Dear Martha,

I know you don't want to speak to me, let alone give me the opportunity to apologize, but I want you to know how very much I regret the pain I have caused you. Please believe me when I say I never meant to hurt you in any way. It was all a terrible mistake, one we both regretted as soon as it happened.

I am sure too the news about Hannah is as much a shock for you as any of us, but I beg you, please, Martha, not to say anything to her. None of this is her fault, you know that, and I know you care for her deeply and would not want to cause her any pain.

I am going away for a few days to give David some space to think things through. I hope more than anything that we can move beyond this, for Hannah's and Danny's sakes as much as anyone else's. I hope too, in time, that you will be able to forgive me.

Ellen

The only thing left in the envelope is a photo. I pull it out. It's a picture of me and Danny, just our faces, leaning in so the side of our heads are resting one against the other.

I gaze at it, the lump in my throat growing so big I can hardly swallow. It must have been taken in summer, when we were eleven or twelve. We look tanned and healthy and there's a sprinkle of freckles on both our noses. We're grinning at the camera, looking insanely happy, like nothing was ever going to touch us in the whole of our lives.

“Hannah, what the hell are you…?”

I raise my head, the photo in my hand, to see Martha staring down at me. The anger in her face fades as she sees just what the hell I am doing. She hovers for a moment in the doorway, then sits across from me on the bed, smoothing out her skirt with her hands.

I see they are trembling.

“You shouldn't be in here. You've no right…” she begins, then thinks better of it when I fix my eyes on hers without flinching.

“Hannah…I…” Her voice tails off.

“What's this all about, Martha?” I lift my hand from the envelope so she can see clearly what I'm holding.

Her face twitches, and she squeezes her lips tight together. “I'm not sure now is the time…”

“Just tell me.”

Martha looks away and back again. I sense her searching for some version of the truth that might let us both off the hook. I hold her gaze, not even letting myself blink, until her expression slumps and a long sigh escapes her.

“This is really something you should talk to your dad about.”

I flashback to our conversation before he left. Him saying he had things to tell me.

“Dad's not here,” I say plainly.

Martha pulls her hand through her hair, her eyes darting away again. “It's hard to explain, Hannah.”

“Try.”

She takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly. Buying herself time.

“Okay…your mother…your mum and dad had a big argument before she died. Your mum was very upset. They weren't sure it was an accident…”

“I know that, Martha. I just read this.” I wave the newspaper article towards her. “But what's this letter from Mum, the stuff about me? What is it I'm not supposed to know?”

Martha swallows. “Oh god, Hannah…” She looks down at me with a kind of pleading in her eyes. “I really think your father should be the one to…”

“Just tell me.”

“Okay…” Something surrenders in Martha's face, like she's come to the end of a road and found there's nowhere else to go. “Your mum and Paul… You know that they were friends before he and I got together, back at university?”

I nod. Remember Dad joking once about being Mum's back-up plan.

“Well, something happened…”

Martha pauses and looks down at her hands, spreading her fingers and placing them on her knees. “Later on. Briefly.”

I stare at her, my brain trying to unscramble her meaning.

“You mean…Paul and
Mum
?”

The movement of Martha's head is so small you could easily miss it. But I don't. It was a nod.

Blood thumps loudly in my temples. “You're saying…what? That they had an affair?”

Martha swallows and sighs. “It was a long time ago, Hannah, before you were even born.”

“And you knew?”

She shakes her head vigorously. “No…no, I didn't…not till later, just before your mum died.”

I pause to let her words sink in. To give my mind a chance to make sense of them.

“Why then?” I ask. “I mean…how did you find out?”

Martha's head droops. “Look, Hannah, I really don't think…”

“
Just tell me!
” The vehemence in my voice surprises us both. Martha stares at me for a moment, as if seeing me for the very first time.

When she speaks her voice is shaky.

“Your mum and dad had been trying for another baby, after you. In the end your dad went in for some tests. And they found that…well…he couldn't.”

“Couldn't what?” My mind feels foggy and confused.

Martha closes her eyes briefly. When she opens them again I see something softer there. Something worse than sympathy.

Pity.

“Have children,” she says slowly.

I stare at her dumbfounded, my thoughts a blank of incomprehension. Her face is pale and drawn and she looks almost afraid.

“But that's ridiculous.” I swallow. “That can't be right… I mean, how could they have had me?”

Martha flushes and looks back down at the floor. For a moment I think I've misunderstood something. Like one of those maths equations where you make some small mistake and none of your answers add up.

Then it all falls into place, and my heart slowly collapses in on itself.

Mum and Dad didn't have me.

Dad isn't my father at all.

I try to breathe but I can't get in enough air at once and I have to keep taking small, short gasps. Dad… Oh god…

Martha's hand on my shoulder. “Hannah, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything…”

“B-before,” I stammer. “Why didn't anyone tell me this before?”

“We meant to, sweetheart. Despite your mum asking us not to.” She nods towards the letter in my hand. “Your dad was going to talk to you, explain everything, but…” Her voice falters, stumbles on again. “Well…then Danny…then Danny disappeared and everything was such a mess. It was all so hard on you…on everyone…that we felt it would be better…”

“How?” I find my voice and it crackles with rage and disbelief. Tears prick at my eyes, and I blink them back. “How could that possibly be better? All this time I thought Dad… Jesus, I had no idea…”

“Hannah, I know it's hard. Please believe me, no one planned it this way. Your dad was in such a terrible state when your mum died. I'm sure you remember.”

The awful question finally surfaces in my mind. But even the moment I ask it, I know.

“So who is…?”

I look down at the photo. Danny and I. All those times people mistook us for brother and sister. We thought it was because we were always together.

I raise my eyes back to Martha. She's staring at me helplessly.

“So Paul is my real father.”

Martha doesn't say anything. She doesn't need to.

All the pieces start to fall into place.

The way Paul seems to hover around me. Hesitant. Attentive. Trying to find a way to get close.

Paul and Dad and Martha, circling one another, keeping their distance. Keeping up appearances, the fiction that nothing had changed.

And Dad. God, Dad. A pain in my chest, sharp as knives, as I think how awful this must have been for him. Having to pretend all this time. Knowing I'm not really his daughter. Knowing his genes and mine have nothing in common except the building blocks of DNA that all of us share.

No wonder things have been so weird between the two of us. I thought it was just losing Mum. But Dad lost everything, all at once: Mum, his closest friends – and me.

My eyes smart with the urge to cry, but I force back the tears. If I start now, I won't be able to stop. I need to keep a grip. I need to
think.

Because that's not all of it, I realize, as the truth carries on unravelling in my head. Oh god… A cramp grips my chest so tight I'm almost gasping for air. Eric's bargain – my truth for his freedom – I had no idea it would blow my life apart so completely.

Martha reaches a hand towards me. “Hannah…”

“He knew,” I say, looking back at the picture of the pair of us, smiling into the camera. “Danny
knew
.”

Suddenly I understand. Everything. What drove him away. Why Danny abandoned me even before he disappeared. He must have found out, stumbled across this letter. Or heard something, his parents arguing.

“What do you mean?” The concern in Martha's voice sours into accusation. “What did Danny know?”

“Don't you see? That's why he was being so weird towards me…towards us…before he ran away. He knew. About me. About Paul and Mum and everything.”

It made sense now. Total sense. How the only way he could cope was to keep his distance, so he didn't have to lie to me, to pretend he didn't know.

And in the end even that became too difficult.

It's not you.
His words echo in my head, that one time I asked him what was going on.
It's not you.

Martha is staring at me in disbelief. “That's absurd, Hannah. No one said anything to Danny.”