Now You See Me (6 page)

She looked up at me appealingly, throwing in a quick, apologetic smile. I didn't know what to say. I had no idea Danny had been acting that way with Paul and Martha too. She'd never said anything before; always acted cheerful whenever I saw her, like nothing was wrong.

“I just kept thinking,” Martha went on with a crack in her voice, “there must be some kind of reason. I even started checking his room when he was out. I wondered whether he was getting into drugs, something like that.”

I realized I was staring at her with my mouth open. “That's crazy,” I said. “He hates that kind of stuff.” It was true. Danny cared far too much about his swimming to do something idiotic like that.

“I know I probably shouldn't have done it.” Martha swallowed. “But I needed to find out what was going on with him. Anyway, a month or so ago he came back early from the pool and caught me going through his things. We had a terrible row.”

She pulled a tissue out of her pocket and wiped her nose. She looked suddenly much older than her forty-five years.

“Did you tell Paul?” Dad asked.

Martha shook her head miserably. “I didn't want to worry him. He had enough on his plate with the business and all that trouble with those office renovations.”

“He never said anything about it,” I whispered, almost to myself. I felt sort of sad and sick at the same time – Danny used to tell me everything.

“I can't help thinking that's why he left.” Martha was crying again. “I can't get it out of my head. I mean, why else would he disappear like this?”

Dad cleared his throat. “Have you told the police?”

Martha nodded. “I mentioned it, but they said kids act that way towards their parents all the time.”

“Well, they're probably right.” Dad walked over, placed a hand on her shoulder. I could tell he felt awkward doing it. That he had to force himself. “Really, Martha, there's no point blaming yourself. Or Hannah. It's not going to help.”

Martha nodded again. “I know.” She looked at me. “I'm sorry, Hannah. I was upset. I really didn't mean—”

“It's okay,” I cut in. “I understand.”

I didn't need her to explain. And I didn't want to talk any more about it. Clearly talking was never going to get us anywhere.

Let alone bring Danny back.

“So, what do you think has happened to him then? I mean, he's been gone, what, over ten days now.”

I looked up at Lianna. She and Maisy were studying me, measuring my reaction.

“Like I said, I don't know,” I mumbled. “I really don't have a clue.”

Maisy kept her eyes fixed on mine as she played with her long hair, pulling it forwards around her neck, then deftly weaving it into a neat brown plait. “He didn't do anything then? Say anything at all?”

I flinched inwardly at how closely her words echoed Martha's. Did even my friends think I was holding something back? I turned away, caught sight of my reflection in Lianna's bedroom mirror, my guarded, almost wary expression.

“I mean, surely if he ran away there'd have been signs or something,” Maisy continued, unravelling her hair and starting again.

I felt my jaw clench and forced myself to relax. They were just trying to help, I reminded myself – after all, they've always known what a big part Danny played in my life. But somehow I could never talk to them like I could to him. Could never quite let myself open up in the same way.

“Have the police been in touch again?” Lianna asked. “Since they came round?”

I shook my head.

“What about his phone? Have you tried calling it?”

“About a thousand times,” I said, swallowing down my unease. “It's always off.”

“But can't they trace it or something?” asked Maisy. “Check his calls?”

“I don't know.” I remembered the eeriness of hearing Danny's voice on the answerphone. I never left a message. I couldn't think of anything to say except, “Hi, it's Hannah. Call me.”

And what was the point of that?

“God, it's creepy, isn't it?” Maisy gave an exaggerated little shiver. “Do you reckon he's been taken or something?”

I bit my bottom lip and looked away. It was obvious she got a little thrill out of Danny's disappearance – along with almost everyone else at school. Like it was somehow not real, just a game, something they'd seen on TV.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lianna flash Maisy a warning look, a frown followed by a widening of her eyes. I stared out Lianna's bedroom window, at the new house being built across the road. A man was walking across a narrow strip of scaffolding, a phone pressed against his ear. He didn't seem bothered about the height, the fact that there was nothing more than a few planks between him and a broken neck.

“I have to go.” I jumped up from the bed.

“Hey, not yet,” Lianna said quickly, knowing they'd gone too far. “Stay for a bit longer. Mum's making brownies for us all.”

“Yes, stay.” Maisy looked genuinely sorry. “We won't talk about Danny any more – not if you don't want to.”

“I've got to get home,” I lied. “Dad and I are going out for a pizza.”

“Do you want us to walk you back?” offered Lianna, like I was something fragile that everyone needed to protect. The girl who lost her mother. Then her best friend.

“I'm fine.” I made myself smile. “It's only ten minutes away. I'll see you at school tomorrow.”

Back in my empty house I headed straight upstairs and took down my jewellery box from my bedroom shelf, wiping off the film of dust with my hand. My diary was hidden inside, underneath the little tray for keeping earrings and trinkets and things. Not that I had many.

As I lifted it out, something fell on the floor. I looked down and saw it glinting on the carpet. Mum's wedding ring. The police had given it to us after the autopsy. I gazed at it for a moment, then grabbed it and dropped it back in the box, shutting the lid firmly.

Settling back on my bed, I flicked through the pages. It wasn't much of a diary, really – there were no dates or anything – just a notebook where I wrote things whenever I felt in the mood.

In one entry I'd stuck a couple of tickets from an amusement arcade – the kind you win and exchange for prizes. I ran my fingers over them, feeling a mix of warmth and sadness. Remembering that trip to Weston, three summers ago. We all went – Mum and Dad, Martha and Paul, Danny, Alice and I.

While the grown-ups lounged on blankets on the sand, drinking fizzy wine and gossiping and laughing, Danny and I had gone swimming. We'd just inched our way into the cold water when Alice woke and toddled towards us. Spotting our heads bobbing above the waves, she started wailing and screaming – wouldn't stop even when we swam back to shore.

It took nearly an hour in the arcade to cheer her up. Paul got a big bag of two-pence pieces, and Danny and I took turns to hoist Alice up so she could post them into the penny falls. Then Mum challenged everyone to an air hockey tournament, and Dad won, raising his fists in the air and whooping like an idiot.

I can't remember what we did then. I never bothered to write it down.

Leafing further forwards, I came to the page where the entries stopped a year ago. When Mum died. When there no longer seemed much point recording things like what I ate for breakfast or who'd said what at school.

I turned to a fresh sheet. Wrote in Sunday's date two weeks ago. Best to work backwards, I decided. Start from when I last saw Danny.

Danny must have said or done something.
Martha's words echoed round my head.
Given you some kind of clue
.

Half an hour later all I had was a blank page and the looming threat of a headache. I couldn't think of a single thing I hadn't already come up with. But neither could I shake the feeling that there must be something, that if I only tried hard enough I'd unearth some kind of evidence that might lead to Danny.

There was only one answer: try harder.

I stuffed the diary into my backpack and grabbed a slice of bread from the kitchen, squeezing it into a rubbery ball. I chewed it as I set off down the road, taking the footpath to Marlborough Avenue and dropping down onto Marine Parade, then skirting along to the Sandmarsh playing fields.

It was the exact route Danny and I had taken that Sunday, but it was amazing how much had already changed. Wet leaves now covered most of the path, and a brisk autumn wind bit deep through my jacket and jeans, making my eyes water and my nose run. I braced myself against the chill and concentrated on scanning the tarmac either side of me, though I knew the chances of finding anything now were worse than slim. Especially since the police had already checked.

But I had to look anyway. I had to make sure they hadn't missed anything. I couldn't sit around doing nothing any more. And maybe looking would jog my memory, bring up something I'd forgotten.

The Sandmarsh playing fields were almost deserted. Only a woman out walking a fat black dog on a lead. I paced round the outside of the miniature railway track, examining the grass. The woman with the dog paused and glanced over and I realized how odd it must look – a young girl, alone, wandering around staring at the ground. So I bent down and pretended to fiddle with the laces of my trainers, but when I finally raised my eyes, she was walking towards me.

“Have you lost something?”

I almost said yes. I almost told her who.

Easier to shake my head.

“Are you okay?” She had one of those nice faces, like Janet Reynolds. Like someone's mum. It made my chest ache just to look at her.

“Thanks. Really, I'm fine.” I returned her smile, aiming for happy and confident.

She seemed unconvinced. “You sure? It'll be getting dark soon. Maybe you should think about going home.”

When the woman left I carried on. Checked the path up towards Dane's Rise, going right to the bench where Danny and I had sat and watched the yachts tacking in the breeze. Cutting back to the boating lake, I walked across the concrete ledge, peering into the dark water on either side.

Nothing. Only the sharp smell of salt and dankness. When I reached the end, I retraced my steps, just to make sure.

Still nothing.

Back along the seafront, it started spitting, a slow damp drizzle that swiftly hardened into rain. By the time I reached Ladd's Point, I was wet and seriously cold, and the light was fading fast. But I made myself scour the beach, checking up around the cliffs where we climbed, gazing into the murky rock pools, searching among the stones and pebbles.

Nothing, nothing and more nothing. Nothing but seaweed and old plastic bottles, pieces of driftwood and the odd snarly stretch of nylon rope.

The sky turned darker, the rain heavier. I huddled in the little cave beneath the cliff, waiting for it to subside. I got my diary out my rucksack. My pencil paused over the paper, then I wrote three words in capitals:

WHERE ARE YOU?

I rested my head against the cold, hard rock and tried to think, still haunted by Martha's words.

He must have said or done something.

Was she right? Had I really missed things, not paid enough attention? I couldn't get rid of the feeling that perhaps I held the missing piece that might bring Danny back, that if I just tried hard enough I could get him home and make everything all right.

I sifted again through my memories of that afternoon, worn now, a bit tatty and frayed. Closing my eyes, I tried to conjure the feeling of being here in the sunshine, but it all seemed impossibly far away.

Only…something shifted and caught at the edge of my mind. Danny sitting over on the flat rocks, watching me mess with the limpets. I'd turned and seen he was on the verge of speaking. Could see the words hovering at the corners of his mouth, like something trying to escape.

“What is it?” I asked.

Danny looked at me for a moment. Pressed his lips tight together.

“Nothing,” he said finally.

Why hadn't I asked again? I wondered now, shivering in my damp clothes. My head felt muzzy and my stomach ached with frustration.

Why didn't I make him tell me what was on his mind?

I inhaled deeply and opened my eyes, blinking in the near darkness. This was pointless, I realized. I was grasping at straws, imagining things where there was nothing to see. Like someone drowning, desperate for something to cling on to.

Martha's car was parked outside my house. I could see her silhouette through the windscreen as I walked up the road. As I approached, she leaned over and opened the passenger door.

“Hey, Hannah, get in!”

Too tired to argue, I slid into the front seat beside her. Alice was asleep in the back, her head slumped at an uncomfortable angle.

“Jesus, look at you!” Martha gasped. “You're soaked. What on earth have you been—?”

Without warning I started to cry, soundlessly, tears rolling down my cheeks, falling onto my sodden clothes. I couldn't stop. I was gulping for air, my vision blurry, my mind an almost soothing blank of anguish.

Then Martha was cradling me and I realized she was sobbing too.

“Oh, Hanny, I'm so sorry. I came round to see how you were doing.” She pulled my face to look at hers. Pressed my forehead into her shoulder. “And to say again how sorry I am about what I said. You know I didn't mean it, don't you?”

I nodded, sitting up and wiping my nose on my sleeve. She brushed the wet hair from my face.

“Come and have something to eat.”

Dial House, usually so tidy, was a mess. Piles of clothes heaped by the washing machine, dirty dishes crowding the space next to the dishwasher, the kitchen table covered with mugs and unopened letters. Martha settled Alice on a chair with a colouring book and some crayons, then grabbed the last couple of clean plates, pulling a sponge cake from a bag.