Now You See Me (5 page)

I'd rolled forwards, ready to push off, but got no further. Something in my head wouldn't let me go.

I'd lost my nerve.

Normally Danny would never have let me hear the end of it, would have ribbed and teased me until I pulled myself together and had a go. But that day he didn't say anything. Just waved me to follow him and pedalled off towards the bandstand.

Janet and the detective stayed for several hours. I told them everything I could remember, how we cycled back past the pier, round the footpath to Ladd's Point. How we sat on the long flat ledge that surrounds the little bay, listening to the suck and swish of the waves.

Mum and Martha used to take us there all the time when we were small. I always loved exploring the caverns and crevices of the rocks, gathering up the little periwinkles and collecting them in a pool. Tiny yellow jewels against the dark rock and seaweed.

That Sunday with Danny, however, I spent my time outwitting the limpets. You can't knock them or prise them off, not without smashing their shells. But sometimes, if you sneak up and nudge them quickly, you can surprise them before they have a chance to clamp down.

I'm really good at it. I'm fast and decisive and they're dislodged before they know it, shrinking back into their tough little cones.

“You can eat them, you know,” Danny had teased. “Even raw.”

He laughed as I pulled a face and placed them back in the circular ridge they made in the rock.

It was the only thing he said the whole time we were there. I'd half hoped, half dreaded him mentioning how things were between us, the fact that we'd practically been strangers this last six months. But he never did.

It was like it had never happened. Or was forgotten. At least by him.

And he'd seemed in no hurry to leave. None of the usual excuses he came up with to avoid me. Instead he suggested we push our bikes back up to Shelton Castle and cycle across to Ryall Hill, where we sat on a bench looking out over the town and the Bristol Channel, and the distant Welsh hills beyond. Danny tossed a pebble he'd picked up on the beach, catching it with one hand then the other. Over and over. Rhythmic. Kind of soothing.

And for a moment, it was like it used to be. No need for words and nothing awkward in the silence.

Just the two of us, together.

When I got to the end, to the point where Danny had cycled home with me, we went through it all over again. Janet read from her notes, checking every detail. Who did we see? Would anyone else remember seeing us? It dragged on and on, and this time it seemed harder. I felt muddled and confused and worried I'd got something wrong. What exactly did Danny say when he arrived at my house? Did we take the zigzag path to the beach or head down Clifton Road?

I kept having to stop and think. Janet never got annoyed, just told me to take my time. But it didn't help.

Then, suddenly, she changed tack, sitting back in the armchair and observing me with a serious expression. “You know the Gellers well, don't you, Hannah? You've stayed there often, I believe, especially since your mum—”

“Yes.”

I said it too fast. Felt the detective's eyes studying my face.

“Paul and Martha are old friends of mine from university,” Dad cut in. “Hannah has always spent a lot of time with them. They've helped me…us…out a great deal.”

Janet gave Dad a sympathetic look. I guessed she knew what happened after Mum died.

She turned back to me. “You'd say you know Danny pretty well then?”

I nodded.

“So have you noticed anything different about him recently? In general, I mean.”

I hesitated. “Um…not really.”

“Any changes in his behaviour?”

I lifted my shoulders into what I hoped was a casual shrug. “Nothing I can think of.”

“When you saw him last Sunday, did he say anything you thought was odd or out of the ordinary? Tell you he was worried about something or that he was in some kind of trouble?”

“Nothing. He was just…you know…normal.” I couldn't quite look at Janet as I said it.

“Did he spend much time on his computer?” asked Detective Thompson. “Perhaps mention someone he'd met online?”

I shook my head.

Janet tapped her pen against her lips and closed her notebook. “Okay, that's great, Hannah. You've been very helpful and I'm sorry this has all taken so long.”

She glanced at Dad, then back at me. “But listen, if you remember anything, anything at all, even if it doesn't seem important, get your dad to ring us straight away, okay? Don't worry that you might be wasting our time. That doesn't matter.”

“Okay.”

She got up, placing her hand on my shoulder as we walked towards the door.

“Hannah, think about the things you know about Danny, things he might want kept secret, things he's done that perhaps he doesn't want other people to know. You can talk to me on your own if you like.” She bent her head slightly, peered right into my eyes. “Please bear in mind what's at stake here. Danny may have made you promise not to tell anyone, but it's very, very important that you do. For his sake, all right?”

I nodded again. Swallowed and blinked. “You will find him, won't you?”

Janet held my gaze. “Obviously I can't make any promises, but I think there's a very good chance we will.”

She gave Dad and me a card with her name and phone number on it. I went straight up to my room, while Dad saw them out. Threw the card into my sock drawer.

My chest felt hot and tight. I was fighting the urge to run back and tell Janet everything. That Danny
had
changed. That nothing he did made sense any more. That I no longer felt like I knew him.

And that I had no idea what I had done wrong.

Because the one question she should have asked was
why
? Why had Danny come round last Sunday when he'd been avoiding me for months?

And why was I so reluctant to tell Janet Reynolds the truth?

I sat on my bed, rubbing my forehead. I was ashamed, I realized. I didn't want to admit to anyone how strained our friendship had become, or how much that hurt me. I didn't even want to admit it to myself. It was like when you cut yourself and you didn't want to see the blood, the slice in your skin. It was too raw. Too painful to look at.

Lying back and closing my eyes, I pictured Danny. Saw him cycle off from my house, one hand steering his bike, the other lifted in a wave. The orange glow of the late afternoon sun making everything around him appear warm and golden as he rounded the bend in the road and disappeared.

And it seemed to me now that the whole day had been a gift, rich and perfect. Like nothing had ever gone wrong between us. And nothing ever would.

But now he was gone. And all I had left was his memory.

Rap, rap, rap.

I turned down the sound on the TV. Someone was knocking on the window. My heart soared as I bounded over.

Danny!

I pulled back the curtains, breath tight with joy, certain I'd see his face beaming in at me.

Martha stood in the porch, looking pale and slightly scary in her dark boots and long black coat. Disappointment cut through me, along with an insane impulse to duck down and hide.

But of course she'd seen me. I went and opened the front door, a smile ready to conceal my discomfort.

Martha's eyes flicked to mine then away. “Hello, Hannah. Can I come in?”

She followed me into the living room. I switched off the TV as Martha stood, watching me, her hands opening and clenching with agitation.

“Is it Danny?” I said quickly. “Have they found him?”

Martha didn't move, her agonized expression her only reply. I felt a wrench of shame. I should have gone round after the police left yesterday. I should have called. I should have…

“So, how did it go yesterday?”

“What do you mean?” I asked stupidly.

“With the police, Hannah.” Her voice hovered between exhaustion and irritation.

“Okay, I guess.”

So that was why she was here. Martha never came round, not since Mum died, not unless it was to pick up Danny or drop something off for me – and even then you could tell she was in a hurry to leave. I guess this place reminded her too much of Mum, of all the times they'd spent drinking tea in the kitchen or sitting, feet curled up on the sofa, chatting and watching TV.

Not that I blamed her. This house was full of painful memories for me too – but it wasn't like I could avoid my own home.

I sat on the edge of the sofa, crossing my arms over my chest. The radiator was on, but the room felt cold.

“What did you tell Janet Reynolds?” Martha asked. I risked a quick glance at her face. She had the look of someone trying to hold themselves in, but losing the battle.

“I don't know. Just what happened. Everything I told them before. They wanted to go over some things.”

“Such as?” There was something sharp in her tone.

“Nothing really. You know – I told you. Just where we went and stuff.” My palms began to sweat despite the chill. Why was Martha giving me the third degree?

“Just where you went and stuff,” she echoed, unable to contain her impatience any longer.

I swallowed. “What do you want me to say? They asked me questions and I answered them. What else could I do?”

“I don't know, Hannah. You tell me.”

I stared at her, at a loss. “What do you mean?”

“Do I have to explain?” Martha gave me an exasperated look. “You were the last person to see Danny. You're his best friend – you tell each other everything…”

“Not any mo—”

“Never mind what you said to the police. You're not seriously telling
me
you have absolutely no idea where he is?”

I shook my head vigorously. “No, Martha, really I don't…”

“Come off it, Hannah. You must know
something
.”

“What do you want me to say? I told them everything I could think of. We went over and over it.”

“But Danny must have said or done something. Given you some kind of clue.”

“Like what?” I leaped up and faced her. “He came round. We went out. You heard me tell the police all about it the first time.”

“I heard—”

“This isn't my fault,” I said, a rush of feeling punching out the words. “Why are you blaming me? I mean, how do we know Danny even planned it? What if he was…?”

I stopped before I said it. The one thing no one wanted even to contemplate. That Danny hadn't chosen to leave. I felt my cheeks flush, the heat of anger in my face. But underneath I was starting to panic. The last thing I wanted was to fall out with Martha; it was hard enough coping without Mum. Especially now.

But Martha appeared not to hear me. Her voice rose, her frustration taking over. Her face was full of a mad energy I'd never seen before, her eyes narrowed, her chin jutting towards me as she spoke.

“I don't believe you,” she spat. “I can't believe that you had no clue what was going on. The two of you—”

“
Back off, Martha
.”

Dad's voice made us both jump. He was standing in the doorway, watching. I couldn't be sure how long he'd been there or how much he'd heard.

“Don't tell me you actually believe any of this!” Martha asked, her voice climbing still higher. She stared at him and I sensed the tension between them, like static before a storm.

“Believe what, Martha? Danny's gone missing, and it's very distressing. But that doesn't mean that my daughter knows anything about it.”

Martha's eyes never left his. She looked for a moment like she was going to say something else, then changed her mind.

“Come on, David. You can't be serious. Those two have always been as thick as thieves. They tell each other everything.”

“Martha, I know you're upset—”

“Upset? Of course I'm bloody upset. My son's been missing for a week now and the last person to see him is sitting here acting all innocent…”

“She
is
innocent, Martha,” Dad growled, his face rigid with anger. “
You know that
. Whatever's happened to Danny…wherever he is and whether he planned it or not, Hannah had nothing to do with it.”

Martha glared at him, something twitching in her cheek.

“You're not thinking straight, Martha. Why would Hannah hide anything? She's as anxious as anyone to have Danny home.”

Martha looked at me, then back at Dad. “You can believe what you like, David,” she muttered. “You always have.”

Dad's head jerked back as if he'd been hit. No one spoke for several seconds. Then Martha sank into the armchair, dropped her face into her hands and burst into tears.

Dad and I stood there, not moving, just listening to her awful gasping sobs.

“I'm sorry,” she cried, running the heel of her hand across her cheeks, leaving a dark smear of mascara. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean… I keep thinking it's all my fault. I mean, if I hadn't…”

“Hadn't what?” Dad asked.

Martha sighed. “Oh, I don't know. Danny's been so… I can't explain it. He hardly speaks to me any more. And he totally ignores his father. He just seems so distant all the time.”

“He's a teenager,” Dad said, his voice more gentle. “It all sounds like pretty normal stuff.”

“You think so?” Martha looked up and sniffed. “I suppose. But he's been acting so weird. Refusing to join in with things or even come down for meals. I go up to his room to get him and he simply tells me he's not hungry. The only one of us he still has any time for is Alice.”

She ran her hands over her face again, pressing her fingers against her eyes for a second or two as if forcing back the tears. “You know what I mean, don't you, Hannah? You've seen how he's been.”