Now You See Me (7 page)

That surprised me. Martha hated supermarket cakes. She always said they tasted of plastic.

“I had a word with your dad before you turned up.” She unwrapped the sponge and cut it into unappetizing wedges. “He's worried about you, Hannah.”

She handed me a slice. It looked like coffee, but I couldn't be sure. I just hoped it wasn't ginger.

“Why?”

“He says you're taking it badly. About Danny, I mean. Says you've barely left the house except to go to school.”

I thought of all the excuses I'd made to Lianna and Maisy to avoid going round before today. The headaches I'd invented. The non-existent homework. Somehow, seeing my friends made Danny's absence worse; it didn't feel right, carrying on like everything was normal.

“Your dad thinks there's been too much pressure on you,” Martha continued. “From the police…from me.” These last words accompanied by an apologetic pinch of her lips.

I stared at the cake on my plate. The knife hadn't so much cut the sponge as pressed its way through it. It was all scrunched up and icing was oozing out the middle. Suddenly I wasn't at all hungry.

“I know this is hard on you, Hannah.” Martha leaned over and squeezed my hand. “It's hard on all of us. But we will find Danny, I promise. We'll get him back.”

I nodded, looking at Rudman. He was sitting by the back door, whining at something outside.

Martha followed my gaze and sighed. “He does that all the time, waiting for Danny to come home. And if it's not him at it, it's Alice.”

Alice raised her head at the sound of her name, but didn't speak. Martha boiled the kettle, emptied the teapot and swilled it under the tap, then dropped in some fresh tea bags. I studied her face. She looked exhausted, her eyes circled with gloom.

She caught my gaze and I looked away. Saw on the other side of the table several photos of Danny, and Martha's open laptop.

“What's this?” I asked, nodding at the laptop and taking a bite of the sponge. It was coffee, but bland and much too sweet.

Martha sighed. “I'm trying to design a poster. And not getting very far. You know me and computers.”

“A poster?”

“About Danny. I have to do something, Hannah. I can't just sit around waiting.”

I looked at her. I knew how she felt. Doing nothing was worse than wasting your time.

“Isn't that something the police should do though?” I asked. “The poster, I mean. Isn't that their job?”

“Apparently not. They've searched the area, interviewed everyone who might be a witness, alerted other police forces around the country. They seem to think they've done all they can at this stage.”

“Do they have any idea what might have happened?” I tried to keep the tension out of my voice.

Martha shook her head and slid her tongue around her teeth. “I get the impression they think he's run away. That he'll come back when he's ready.”

“And you don't agree?”

Her eyes fixed on mine. “Do you, Hannah? Do you really think Danny would do that, leave us, leave Alice, without a word to anyone?”

I flushed. Was Martha accusing me again?

“I'm sorry,” she said, catching the look on my face. “Let's not get into that again. I know you would tell me if you knew anything.”

Martha sighed again, heavier this time and pulled at her top lip with her fingers. “Truth is, I don't know what to think. I can't believe he'd run off, put us through all this, but then I'd rather that than…”

She stopped. Not letting herself go there. But I knew where that thought was leading – better Danny left of his own free will than was forced.

Abducted. Or worse.

“They're talking of dragging the boating lake,” Martha said, her voice almost a whisper. “Just to check, Janet Reynolds said.”

I thought of what I'd told them, about Danny and me crossing the ledge on our bikes. Did they think he went back there or something?

“When?” I asked.

“Next week.”

I swallowed.

“He's not there,” Martha added. “I told them that.” She looked at me as if for confirmation, her hands hovering restlessly in her lap.

I took a deep breath. “We'll find him.” I nodded towards the computer. “I can help. I've done loads of this stuff at school.”

Martha frowned. “I'm not sure, Hannah. You've got your homework to do, and your dad thinks—”

“I don't care what Dad thinks. I want to help find Danny.”

“Danny.” Alice lifted her head from her colouring book and smiled. “Want Danny.”

I studied her face, the little pinch marks below her eyes, and felt my stomach contract – I could see how much she was missing her brother.

Pushing away the rest of my cake, I leaned forwards and dragged the laptop towards me.

The poster slipped through my hands as I tried to fix it to the street lamp. I picked it up off the pavement and brushed a smudge of dirt off the plastic sleeve. Held it back in place with my elbow. With my other hand I wound the string round the concrete post, crossing it over the plastic and tightening it into a knot.

This time the poster stayed put. Danny's face grinned back at me – and at everyone else walking down the street. I'd seen this picture a thousand times in the three weeks since he disappeared, but it still freaked me out. Every time his eyes caught mine, I couldn't help wondering where he was. What was happening to him.

I had less trouble at the bus shelter, pressing the poster against the perspex window and sticking it, top and bottom, with two lengths of tape. Then stood back and gave it a gentle tug. It held firm.

“Excuse me, young lady.”

The voice made me start. I spun round and saw the old man standing behind me, eyes narrow with disapproval.

“Have you got permission to do that?” He nodded towards the poster. “You can't put just anything up there, you know.”

“I know.” I picked up my bag and slung it over my shoulder, started to walk away.

“Hang on a minute…”

But I was gone, crossing the road and climbing back into the passenger seat of Martha's car. As I twisted round to grab my seat belt, I saw the man peering at Danny's photograph. Saw his face change as he realized it wasn't another ad for a local band. Saw him glance up as we pulled away, his expression half pity, half apology.

“Okay?” Martha asked.

“Uh-huh.”

I didn't bother to tell her about the man. She had enough on her mind. She'd barely said a word since Paul confronted her in the kitchen this evening, staring at the bulging carrier bags, catching hold of her arm as she tried to brush past.

“For god's sake, Martha,” I heard him hiss as I shot off to the car. “Just remember what Janet said, all right?”

I couldn't help wondering what exactly Janet Reynolds had said. And what she'd think about this. Was it actually legal, sticking these posters everywhere? Had Martha even checked?

“Just the shops, then we'll go home,” Martha said, parking in the multistorey behind the supermarket. She sat for a moment, rubbing her forehead, looking as tired as I felt. It had taken us several hours to cover just the end of town near the leisure centre, and some of the roads leading up to the high street.

“Let's go.” I grabbed a pile of envelopes and posters and led the way through the alleyway to the main shopping street. It was cold and late and everywhere had that empty, closed-up look. I shivered, pulling my scarf tight around my neck, glad Martha was with me.

“I'll do this side – you do over the road.” Martha crossed to the line of shops opposite; I began working my way towards the precinct at the other end of the street. We couldn't stick the posters on the windows, so we folded them into envelopes, along with a note asking the manager to display them somewhere inside.

But not all the shops had letter boxes, particularly the larger ones. More often than not I had to shove the envelope under the door, or leave it tucked in the space around the frame.

I pushed one through the door of the bookshop, another in the place that sells vitamins and health foods. When I straightened up, I saw a group in the distance. As they got closer, I recognized Maisy and Vicky and a couple of other girls from my year. They stopped and looked at the poster I'd stuck up by the library, four heads cocked at the same angle as they read the text under Danny's photo. Then stood for a minute, talking, before heading up the street towards me.

Vicky spotted me first. I saw her tug on Maisy's arm as they approached, mumbling something I didn't catch. My cheeks flared. All at once I felt stupidly embarrassed. Like I'd been caught shoplifting, or found naked, wandering the streets.

As they drew level, Maisy tossed me an awkward smile. “How's it going?” She nodded at the bag of posters and envelopes in my hand.

“Fine,” I said.

She hesitated for a moment. “Do you want a hand?”

I shook my head. “It's fine, honestly. I'm nearly done.”

“Oh, okay.” Something like relief flashed across her face.

Vicky smiled fleetingly. “Sorry, Hannah,” she said, then to Maisy: “We've got to go. Sophie's waiting for us.”

I watched them disappear along the side street that led to the Co-op. Saw Maisy turn round and give me a small wave and a glance of something – pity? encouragement? – then quicken her pace to catch up with the others. As they passed Martha by the card shop, they all turned to stare, Vicky actually walking backwards a few paces, not bothering to hide her curiosity.

Not that Martha noticed. She was oblivious, working with a speed and fervour that made me dizzy. Ever since they dragged the boating lake a few days ago, her search to find her son had been relentless.

I glanced at the picture of Danny in my hand. Please come back, I thought. Before it's too late. Before our lives fall apart completely.

But Danny just beamed back at me. I folded his face in half and stuffed it into an envelope, posting it through the door of the hardware store. Worked my way up towards the end of the high street.

Last but one was a charity shop, with a letter box right at the bottom of the door. I bent down, struggling with the stiff flap. Managed to prise it open, but it snapped shut before I could push the envelope through, nearly trapping my fingers. I tried again. Succeeded.

As I straightened up, I saw it.

I stood there, rigid, staring at the £9.50 price tag pinned to the sleeve, unable to move or turn away or even breathe.

My mother's dress. The purple crushed silk gown she wore whenever she was going somewhere special. The one that made her look like she lived a whole other kind of life.

My heart nearly stopped. What was it doing here?

Slowly I realized, remembering Dad clearing out all her things only days after she died. I assumed he'd given them to people, to friends. But he must have brought them here. Or someone else had. After all, who wants a dead woman's clothes?

I couldn't tear my eyes from the dress. It was like she was back. Could almost see her smiling, smell her perfume as she bent forwards to kiss the top of my head.

“Love you, Hanny. Be good, won't you?”

It was what she said every time she went out. And her last words to me, an hour before they pulled her car out of the river.

Twenty minutes too late.

Suddenly I felt sick. My legs were shaky and I wanted to sink down onto the pavement and rest the side of my head against the window, to close my eyes and go to sleep.

Mum. I miss you so much.

I felt an arm gently fold itself round my shoulder and give it a squeeze.

“Come on, sweetheart.” Martha's voice was soft and gentle as she pulled me away. “I think we've done enough for one night.”

I could tell she'd seen it too. And I knew that tomorrow it would be gone.

Martha wouldn't let this happen again.

Martha stepped into the porch, avoiding the broken flowerpot in front of the door, and rang the bell. The sound reverberated through the house, loud as a fire alarm.

I stood behind her, hugging myself to keep warm, trying to kill the tiredness and boredom by examining the entrance. This featured black peeling paintwork and a crack in the little window to the side. Ivy scrambled up the brickwork, and the tiles on the floor were faded and chipped. The small front garden looked almost derelict in the cold November light.

Someone elderly, I guessed, or maybe young, just renting the place, not much caring what kind of a state it was in. It was amazing how often you could tell what kind of person would open the door, long before they did. But you could never know for sure; there was always room for surprise.

A noise from inside, someone making their way to the door. The odds narrowed. They moved slowly, shuffling almost. Older, most likely. Man or a woman? I tried to guess, but already the key was turning in the lock, the sound of a bolt sliding back.

The door opened about fifteen degrees. In the gap a sliver of head appeared, grey-haired, uncertain.

A man.

“Yes?”

“Hello,” Martha said in her brightest, friendliest voice. “My name's Martha Geller, and this is my god-daughter Hannah.”

I dug out my most encouraging smile, glad I hadn't bothered to change after school. People always seemed reassured by the sight of my uniform.

The door opened another ten degrees. The head peeked out a little further. Martha offered a hand. A pause, then a gnarlier version clasped hers.

“Are you collecting for something?” the old man asked, adjusting his hearing aid.

Martha shook her head, holding out a photograph of Danny. “We're here about my son. He's been missing for two months now. We're just asking people in the area if they can remember seeing him.”

The man brought out a pair of glasses from his shirt pocket, settled them carefully on his nose, and took the photo, squinting in the dim light of the hallway. He stood peering at it for what felt like for ever, like one of those endless TV pauses before they announce the winner.