Three years ago, thirteen-year-old Danny Geller vanished without trace. His family and friends are still hanging on to every last shred of hope. Not knowing if he’s alive or dead, their world is shrouded in shadows, secrets and suspicions. This is the story of what happens when hope comes back to haunt you. When your desperation is used against you. When you search for the truth – but are too scared to accept the reality staring you in the face…
A mesmerizing psychological thriller with the most incredible twist you’ll read all year.
To Josh, Flan, Chip, Hetty and James.
In memory of Joan and Tom Robinson.
I never meant to be here.
I hadn’t planned to be standing by the boating lake, shivering in the October breeze, watching seven men look for traces of my lost best friend.
Nor had I told anyone I was coming. Didn’t mention it to Dad. Or Martha, who was boycotting the whole thing, still refusing to believe anything bad could have happened to her son.
The truth was, I didn’t even want to be here. I had to be. When the time came, I just couldn’t stay away.
And what with the sudden cold snap, I thought I’d be alone down on the seafront. But it was half-term and news had clearly got around. By the time I arrived, a small crowd had already gathered along the yellow tape sectioning off the lake. Mainly grown-ups, but a few children too, the smallest sitting on their parents’ shoulders, noses nipped pink by the wind.
As I padlocked my bike to the fence by the Marine Cafe, I spotted Tom from my tutor group across from the crazy golf, next to a man I guessed was his father. Tom gave me a smile and waved, like we’d bumped into each other at the cinema or something. I pretended not to notice, pulling my hood close around my face and praying no one else would recognize me. The last thing I needed was anyone telling Martha I was here.
I walked up to the row of bathing huts, where I had a good view of the police divers as they wriggled into baggy black drysuits and heaved oxygen tanks onto their backs. With their masks on, you could barely see their faces. It made them look sinister, creepy, like something out of a horror film.
It seemed to take them for ever to get ready. All around, people shuffled and stamped, pulling scarves and coats tighter as they waited. My stomach felt raw and edgy with nerves and impatience, my cheeks red and windburned.
“Get on with it,” muttered the man next to me. His head was covered by a striped bobble hat, the kind you see on little kids, pulled right down over his ears. The woman next to him wore a red anorak and an expectant look, like someone waiting for a show to begin.
As if this wasn’t real, wasn’t about someone’s life. And the lives of everyone he’d left behind.
Finally all seven divers lined up at the end of the lake, spreading out to cover its full width. Each held a long pole in one hand, a torch in the other. I felt almost disappointed. I guess I’d expected something more dramatic – big hooks, complex equipment or something, radars perhaps.
This wasn’t supposed to be exciting, I reminded myself, as bit by bit, moving together, the divers descended into the murky lake. The water barely reached their knees at first, rising to their waists as they waded deeper, step by slow, careful step, shining their torches into the depths, prodding every inch of the bottom with their poles.
Around me, the crowd thickened as dog walkers and holidaymakers paused to see what was going on. I was glad Martha wasn’t here. It was boring and nerve-wracking at the same time, and something about other people’s curiosity made me feel cross and spiky. This felt private somehow. None of their business.
A sudden murmur surfed the crowd. Several people pointed towards the lake as kids surged forwards for a better view. One of the divers put his hand in the air and signalled the others to stop. Adjusting his face mask, he lowered himself head first into the water.
Seconds drifted by… Nothing. I felt tense, breathless, queasy.
What if…?
Then he surfaced, one hand holding something in the air. My heart lurched as I strained to see. The police on the lakeside passed a plastic bag down the line, and the diver dropped in a solitary shoe.
“Reckon it’s his?” the woman in the red anorak asked the bobble-hat man.
He shrugged. “Who knows?”
In my head, Danny pedalled across the ledge separating the shallow from the deeper part of the lake. Like a slow-motion sequence in a film, I saw him lose his balance and fall into the water, head glancing against the side as he sank into the shadowy depths.
A shiver flowed through me, chilly as the wind. I shook the image from my mind. Turned back to watch the divers resume their slow, painstaking shuffle, my legs twitching with frustration.
Perhaps I should have asked Lianna and Maisy to come. Even Tanya or Vicky, or practically anyone else from Year Eight. At least I’d have had someone to distract me from this electric prickle in my skin, this anxious flutter in my chest.
But I knew they wouldn’t have stuck it for long; all around me people were drifting away as they lost interest.
“What’s going on?” asked an older woman with a dog. The bobble-hat man reeled off Danny’s name and how he disappeared three weeks ago, like he was discussing an old friend. But then, thanks to the local paper, everyone round here knew what had happened.
“Do they think he drowned swimming or something?” the woman asked. She at least had the decency to look more shocked than curious.
The bobble on his hat shook. “I doubt it. It’s way too shallow. They’re just looking for clues.”
“Unless someone dumped him there,” the woman in the red anorak chipped in, her voice chirpy. “Weighed him down or something.”
The older woman grimaced, and I flashed back to those times Danny and I had swum in the lake. The way the muddy water curled around your legs, cool and slippery. How you had to keep your feet tucked up high to stop them brushing against the sludge on the bottom.
I shuddered again. Martha was right. This was a mistake, I should never have come. But though my head wanted to leave, my legs refused to move. The woman and her dog moved on and through the gap she left, I spotted a man shouldering a TV camera, rotating it slowly to film the onlookers. Probably a local channel.
I pulled my hood closer and looked at my feet as the lens swung in my direction – no way did I want to appear on the regional news. When I raised my head again, the cameraman was focusing back on the divers.
“We should go,” the bobble-hat man said, checking the time on his phone.
The woman in the anorak took a last lingering look at the wading men, now halfway across the lake.
“Poor kid,” she sighed as she turned away.
By the time the divers reached the far wall I was almost alone, everyone else defeated by cold and boredom. Not that they’d missed much. Ranged along the walkway was a collection of rubbish. Lots of bottles and shards of glass. An old bike wheel, too small to be Danny’s. A supermarket trolley.
And a rusty toy pram, dredged up from the southern side of the lake. It wasn’t big, and judging by the way the diver pulled it effortlessly out of the water, it didn’t weigh much.
I watched it dripping on the slipway, trying to imagine how it had ended up in there. I pictured some kid out with her parents, pushing it too close to the edge. The pram skeetering out of her grip, toppling in. Hands grasping at the water. The doll rescued perhaps, but the pram sinking without trace.
Why didn’t anyone go in after it? The water barely came up to the chest of most people, even in the deeper bits. Maybe they didn’t know that, I decided, or maybe they didn’t think it worth the bother. You could hardly blame them. I wouldn’t have gone in either, not without Danny egging me on.
Staring across the empty lake, I couldn’t erase that little girl from my mind. I saw her crying, clutching the doll to her chest as her mum pulled her away. Glancing back to where dark water swallowed her pram for ever.
Something shifted and stirred inside me. A deep pain rising, like a bubble, surfacing like a gasp as I shook away the image of my mother’s face. My throat closed tight and my mouth went dry. I gulped in salt air in an effort to stay standing.
I couldn’t think about Mum. Not now.
I hurried back to the cafe. They hadn’t found Danny, I kept telling myself. They hadn’t found Danny and I should be relieved. They hadn’t found Danny – and what happened to Mum didn’t change a thing.
But as I fiddled with my bike lock, fingers numb and clumsy with cold, I couldn’t get rid of the sudden, certain feeling that I’d lost him too.
All the warning I get that my life is about to detonate is a blast of music. I recognize it from a class we did on Beethoven – “Ode to Joy”, I think it’s called. It fills the silent classroom, prompting thirty heads to turn and stare in my direction. It’s only then I realize it’s coming from nearby.
Very nearby. The bottom of my rucksack no less.
Hell. My phone. Alice has been messing with my ringtones again.
I ferret in my bag and cut the call just as Mr Harrington looks round from the quadratic equations he’s writing on the whiteboard. Clocks my reddening face.
“While I applaud your taste in music, Miss Radcliffe,” he barks, “I’d rather you didn’t flaunt it in my lesson. Turn it off or I’ll confiscate the damn thing.”
Lianna and Josie both wink at me and grin. I roll my eyes and smile. As Mr Harrington turns back to his figures, I peer at the screen under the desk. The call was from Martha. A second later a text flashes up.
Janet Reynolds called. Have to leave urgently. Can you get Ally? Martha xx
That’s all. But it’s enough to ignite a hot lick of dread in my stomach.
I text back Yes, then switch off the phone. Drop it into my bag and turn to face the whiteboard, trying to act like nothing just happened at all.
Alice is sitting on the grass inside the school playground, the back of her blonde head bobbing up and down as she picks the heads off the daisies and gathers them into a pile. I nod to her teacher, who waves hello.
“Hannah!” Alice leaps up when she sees me, flinging her arms around my neck and swinging her feet off the ground.
“Hey, Ally,” I gasp, collapsing onto the grass beside her. My heart is pounding and I’m out of breath. I’ve practically run the mile from my school to hers – no mean feat with a full rucksack. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Look!” Alice holds up a crumpled piece of paper from her bag. A spiky-looking animal stares back at me, its head, body and long tail made up of lurid green and blue splodges of paint. Some stick right up from the paper and are clearly still wet.
“Kiss!” She shoves the picture so close to my face that I can smell the funny chalky scent of the paint.
“Nooo!” I squeal, pulling a pretend frightened face. “It might bite!”
Alice grins and stuffs the picture back into her bag. “Silly Hannah. It’s only an Ally-gator.” She falls back onto the grass giggling, then sits up again quickly. “Where’s Mummy?”
“I don’t know. She just sent me a message asking me to come and get you.”
“Humph…” Alice grabs the daisies and throws them across the lawn.
“It must be important, Ally. She’d be here if she could.”
“Don’t care anyway,” she says with a shrug.
“You don’t mean that.” I roll her back onto the grass and gently tickle her ribs, sending her into squeals of panicky delight. Then stand up and hold out my hand. “Come on, Bugsy, let’s get home and wait for your mum.”
She raises her hand to mine, letting her weight flop backwards as I heave her to her feet. It’s not easy. Alice is seven now, and getting heavier by the day.
Soon, I think, I won’t be able to lift her at all.
There’s no sign of Martha’s car in the driveway of Dial House, so I take the key from its hiding place under the birdbath and unlock the back door. Rudman mobs us the moment we step inside, running round our legs in little circles of joy, barking and trying to lick our knees.
I dump our school bags on a chair and look for a note. Nothing. There’s a stack of plates by the dishwasher, and jam and butter still out on the kitchen table. Martha really must have left in a hurry.
“Hungry?” I ask Alice.
She shakes her head, so I make up a couple of glasses of squash, grab myself a few biscuits, and take them outside to the hammock strung between the apple trees. It’s the first warm day of spring, and there’s a gentle buzz of insects in the air. The garden is full of birdsong and half-forgotten smells – apple blossom and fresh green grass and something darker, more earthy.
Rudman hurtles around the lawn in ecstasy at being released, then flops panting at our feet. I’m guessing he’s been shut indoors all day.
Slumped together in the hammock, Alice makes me tell her stories. It’s more boring than difficult. Like a lot of kids with Down’s syndrome, she wants to hear the same ones over and over. So I tell her the tale of the three goats and the troll under the bridge, and as soon as I finish she begs me to start again, her little round face a perfect blank as she listens. As if she’s hearing it for the very first time.
Third go round, she falls asleep. I remove her glasses, placing them on the lawn by the base of the tree. Think about doing some English revision, but I know I’ll wake her if I go back inside for my bag. So I rest my head on the side of the hammock and let my mind settle on the question it’s been circling all afternoon – why Janet Reynolds has asked to see Martha.
She must have something to tell her. Something about Danny. Something she didn’t want to say over the phone.
After all this time – three and a half years now – I just know that can’t be anything good.
Danny.
I try to picture his face, but all that comes is the one from the photo, the one that appeared on all the posters. I’ve forgotten so much of him, I think, with a sinking feeling of sadness. How he looked. His voice, bright and teasing. The way he made everything seem so easy.
I feel an ache, too, at the thought of Martha. Of what she must be going through right now.
Underneath the hammock Rudman starts yipping in his sleep, his legs twitching as he chases something in his dreams. A cat maybe. Or rabbits. Alice stirs beside me, stretching an arm out so it rests on mine. I leave it there until it feels uncomfortably heavy, then shift over to give her more room, closing my eyes again and trying to settle the swirl of my thoughts.
But my mind is as restless as Rudman’s dreams and keeps dragging me back to all those places I thought I’d left behind. Danny’s disappearance. The search. The endless waiting, the constant hoping.
And the last time PC Janet Reynolds called Martha and Paul. When they found the body.
The memory leaves my breath catchy and raw, in contrast to Alice’s slow, regular exhale. I feel suddenly trapped, airless. I want to run away, get on a bus or a boat or a train, anything to take me far from the bad news I know is waiting for me.
After all, what are the chances this will be another false alarm?
Daniel Geller disappeared on a Sunday afternoon in late September – a week after his thirteenth birthday. Not that I knew then that he’d gone. Not even that evening, when Dad stuck his head round my bedroom door.
“Any idea where Danny is?”
I put down my book on the slave trade. Dad looked distant and dishevelled, his eyes not quite meeting mine. He ran his hand over his hair, which seemed to have grown thicker and wilder in the year since Mum died.
I shrugged. “Isn’t he at home?”
“Not according to his mother.”
Dad removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, staring absently at the homework scattered across my bedroom floor. He had that look about him again, like there was something on his mind he was struggling to find words for.
But then there was always something. Usually work.
“She’s still on the phone. Can you speak to her, Hannah?” His mouth made the awkward movement that these days passed for a smile. “I’m rather in the middle of things at the moment…”
A few seconds later he was back with the handset, dropping it onto my bed like he couldn’t get rid of it fast enough. Dad always avoided speaking to Martha. Never got beyond a perfunctory greeting, the briefest exchange of information.
I heard the closing click of his study door. I put down my pen and pressed the phone to my ear. It emitted a tiny, furious bark.
“Hi, Martha.”
“Hannah, sweetheart, is Danny there?” Despite Rudman’s yapping in the background, I could hear the worry in her voice.
“No. I thought he was with you.”
“I haven’t seen him since this morning. It’s almost nine.”
I glanced outside at the gathering darkness. In the house opposite, lights glowed in the upstairs windows.
Another volley of frantic barking in my ear. A groan from Martha. “Hang on a sec…” A muffled sound, then her voice scolding Rudman.
“Sorry, Hannah,” she said, slightly breathless. “I’ve no idea what’s got into that animal. Anyway, I’m a bit concerned. I’ve tried Danny’s mobile half a dozen times, and he hasn’t answered.”
“He cycled back here with me hours ago. I assumed he went on home.”
“Did he say so?”
I thought for a moment. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Any ideas where he might have gone?”
I barely had any idea where Danny got to any more, I felt like saying, but kept it to myself. “You could try Joe,” I suggested, “or Ross or Ewan.”
“Do you have their numbers?”
“No. Sorry.”
I could almost hear Martha suppress a sigh at the other end of the line. “How about you ask some of your friends, Hannah? Maybe they’ll know where he is?”
“I’ll call Vicky Clough. She might.”
“Thanks.” Martha’s voice was laced with anxiety. “Look, Hannah, if you hear anything you’ll let me know, right?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks. See you tomorrow after school, okay?”
“Sure. Bye then…”
An abrupt click at the end of the line. I listened to the burr of the dialling tone for a few seconds, then grabbed my phone and texted Vicky, hoping she wouldn’t read anything into me asking about Danny. No matter how many times I told her he was my friend and nothing more, she clearly never believed it.
Apart from thinking that Danny would really be for it when he got home, I admit I didn’t give Martha’s call a second thought. It didn’t even occur to me that there could actually be something wrong. Why would it? Lately Danny was always out somewhere or other, round at someone’s house or off riding his bike. This was hardly the first time his mother had rung to track him down.
Even so, even now, it still seems incredible that I didn’t know, that I didn’t somehow sense that something wasn’t right. I was his best friend, after all. Or at least had been. And not any old best friend, but the kind you get when you’ve practically grown up together. The kind who knows you better than you know yourself.
But there was nothing. No warning sirens going off in my head as I picked up my pen. Not even a little niggle of worry as I wrote about the slave boats and all those stolen people sent far across the world, never to see their homes or families again.
“Hey, Hannah.”
I looked up to see Joe Rowling standing by my desk. He nodded at Lianna before turning his attention back to me.
“You seen Danny?”
I shook my head. “His mum was looking for him last night. Did she get hold of you?”
“Yeah. I told her we were supposed to meet up yesterday for footy, but Danny never showed up.” Joe frowned and hiked his rucksack strap higher on his shoulder. “So you’ve no idea where he is?”
“None. I thought maybe you’d know.”
“No clue,” Joe sniffed. “I’ve tried his mobile loads. I think it’s turned off.”
“Maybe it’s out of battery,” suggested Lianna with a shrug.
“Yeah, probably.” Joe glanced behind him as Mr Young marched in, register tucked under his arm.
“Well, when you see him, tell him he missed the best match ever.” He punched the air. “We thrashed those idiots from Randolph’s.”
I grinned. Danny really would be sorry he missed that.
It was the same story all day.
“Any idea where Danny Geller might be?” Mr Young quizzed me after registration. I assumed Martha hadn’t rung in or he’d have known.
Danny wasn’t in assembly, and there was no sign of him at break. Or in the lunch queue. I left Maisy and Lianna to their sandwiches, and made my way to the school pool. I wasn’t up to speed with where Danny hung out these days, but I did know one thing: if he was anywhere, he’d be here. Danny never missed swimming practice – not unless he was off sick or something.
I pressed my face against the glass doors separating the pool from the main sports hall. Half a dozen kids were thrashing up and down the lanes. I didn’t have to wait for them to stop and lift their heads to know that none of them were Danny. You could tell by the way they cut through the water – compared with him, they made it look like hard work.
Mr Cozens strode over as I turned to go. “You seen Geller?” he snapped, not bothering to hide his annoyance. As if it was somehow my fault that Danny hadn’t turned up.
“No. I’m looking for him too.”
“Well, when you find him, tell him I need to speak to him,” he said gruffly. “We’re supposed to be sorting out teams for the trials today.”
“I’ll tell him.” I fled before Cozens could dump anything else on me. He might be a great swimming coach, but it was beyond me how Danny put up with him three lunchtimes a week.
Danny’s absence was odd, but I wasn’t that worried. Most likely he was ill. Martha had probably hauled him off to the doctor and forgotten to tell the school, and now Danny was propped up in bed with a giant bottle of something fizzy, playing stupid games on his laptop. Or curled up on the sofa next to Alice watching kids’ TV. Cartoons, game shows, even the baby stuff they make for toddlers – Danny loved them just as much as his sister.
So it wasn’t till after school and I was halfway up the drive to Dial House that I saw the last thing I ever expected. Something which made the breath freeze in my throat and my feet jerk to a standstill.
Parked right up near the front door, under the trees, was a police car.
That was the exact moment I knew something was wrong. Very wrong indeed.
It was a proper police car, with a strip of lights on the top, and a yellow and blue chessboard pattern on the sides. I stood there, hoping perhaps I was imagining it. Or that there was some completely ordinary, everyday reason for it being there, parked under the trees, obscuring the front door of Dial House.
I didn’t need this icy jolt in my stomach to tell me there was nothing good about a visit from the police.
The thought of Mum rose up again, that nagging pain that flared like toothache. I pushed it aside and focused on Danny. What the hell has he done? I wondered. A flush of anxiety made me hesitate. Maybe I should go home. Wait for someone to tell me what was going on.
But the thought of sitting around on my own, not knowing, was more than I could bear. So I went round and knocked on the back door. Normally I’d walk straight in, but somehow the police car changed everything.
No one heard me. I put my hand up to block out the reflection and peered through the window; the kitchen was empty. They must be sitting in the living room or the conservatory. I could go and ring the front doorbell, but that felt too weird; Dial House was practically my second home.
So I turned the handle and stepped inside. Sure enough, I could hear voices coming from the living room. Martha’s, then another woman’s. I cleared my throat quietly, heart picking up speed in my chest, and went up to the door. It was only half closed, but I tapped on it anyway.
“Yes?” Martha’s voice, high and uncertain.
I walked in. Four heads turned towards me – none of them Danny’s. Martha was on the sofa, her skin drawn and pale, her wavy black hair loose and untidy. Paul beside her in his work suit, looking tired and serious. In the chairs opposite, two police officers – a man and a woman.
Everyone sat straight-backed and tense, perched on the edge of their seats like they never really meant to sit down at all.
I stumbled out a hello and the officers smiled and I felt like I could breathe for the first time since I saw the police car. They weren’t the same two, I could see that. They weren’t the officers from before, the ones who came about Mum.
Paul rose and beckoned me over, but Martha stared at me, her face shocked and vacant, like she’d completely forgotten who I was. Then her expression collapsed and her head sunk into her hands.
I felt a flush of unease. Was she angry with me for barging in?
I cleared my throat to mumble an apology, then understood – she’d thought I was Danny. That look on Martha’s face was disappointment.
Oh god. I felt giddy, my mind reeling. “Where is he?” I blurted. “Is Danny in some kind of trouble?”
Paul stepped forwards, his expression awkward, and put his hand on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze before introducing me to the police officers. “This is Hannah, the girl we were telling you about. She’s always been very close to Danny.”
The woman officer stood. She had brown hair and a nice face, the sort that made you feel you could say anything and she wouldn’t mind. “I’m PC Janet Reynolds, the area missing persons coordinator, but that’s rather a mouthful so I suggest you just call me Janet. And this is PC Simon Jenkins.” The man next to her gave me a brief nod.
She said all this with a little laugh that was obviously meant to make me feel more relaxed, but it didn’t work. The missing persons coordinator? The words rang in my head like the bell at school, loud and insistent. Suddenly I wanted to go home. To crawl into bed and read a book and pretend that everything was okay.
“Shall I go?” I said to Paul quickly. “I just came to look for Danny.”
“That’s why we’re here, Hannah.” Janet paused, waiting for me to speak. I stared at her blankly, mind racing. I felt suddenly guilty, like I’d done something wrong. Only somehow forgotten, or perhaps not realized I’d even done it.
Seeing my confusion, Janet went on: “No one has seen Danny since yesterday afternoon, Hannah. We’re trying to establish where he might be.”
My heart started to race, my head felt light and spacey. It was like Mum, I thought. It was happening all over again.
I looked at my feet, fighting the panic that threatened to engulf me, and saw one of Alice’s toys beneath the sofa. The soft rag doll with the yellow hair you could tie in bunches. Where was Alice? At a friend’s house maybe? Or perhaps Martha had asked someone to look after her.
“So, it’s good you’re here, Hannah,” I heard Janet say. “We wanted to talk to you anyway. We’re hoping you can help.”
I forced myself to raise my eyes. She gestured towards an empty chair. I sat down.
“As far as we can tell, you were the last person to see Danny yesterday. Or at least the last person we know of.” Janet paused again while I took this in. “Would you mind if we asked you some questions?”
I shook my head. “Yes. I mean, no problem.”
“Do you want us to call your dad first and have him come over?”
I looked over at Martha. She was biting her lip, frowning. Wanting to get on with it, I realized.
I shook my head again. Dad would be buried in the lab somewhere at the university. It’d take ages to track him down.
“It’s fine,” I said.
“We’re her godparents,” Martha added quickly. “Hannah spends a lot of time with us.”
Janet glanced at her, then nodded. I leaned forward, pressing my hands between my knees so no one could see them shaking.
I was there for over an hour. I told them everything I knew, which wasn’t much. Only where Danny and I went yesterday afternoon, what we did, stuff he said, that sort of thing. Everything I could think of.
Janet asked all the questions. The policeman called Simon wrote everything down in a little notebook, which he tucked away into his pocket when we’d finished. They wanted to know details of Danny’s friends, places he went, where I thought he might be. They even asked me if I knew his email and Facebook passwords so they could check his messages. I wasn’t much help there either. Danny had become as distant online as he had in real life.
All the time I was talking Martha sat there, dragging her hands over her forehead, pulling the skin so tight it gave her face a startled look. You could feel the worry coming off her like a fever.
I kept trying to catch her eye. I felt nervous about saying the right things, or the wrong things; that I might somehow be letting her down. But when it was over, when Janet and Simon got in their car and drove away, Martha came over and gave me a brief hug.
“I’m sorry, Hannah. I’ll speak to you later. I need to go and pick up Alice.” Her words tumbled out in a rush and she almost ran out the room.
Paul gripped my arm as I stared after her. “You okay?”
I nodded. Turned to look at him. “Danny? Do you think he’s all right?”
Paul’s mouth twitched. His grip relaxed. “I’m sure he is, Hannah. He probably needed some time out. The police think he’ll come back in a day or two.”
“But why would he go off like that?” I asked, bewildered. “I mean, without telling anyone?”
And how could they be so sure he meant to go? I wanted to say. That someone hadn’t made him.
Paul gazed out the window to the view across the bay. It was a cloudy day, misty, and there wasn’t that much to see, but he kept his eyes fixed on the horizon like it was the most absorbing thing in the world. “I don’t know, Hannah. I really can’t answer that. But I’m sure we’ll find him very soon.”
His voice sounded convincing. Yet behind his words I thought I caught a glimpse of something. Something far less confident than he was trying to appear.
We hardly spoke all the way home. Paul seemed lost in his thoughts, driving automatically, like he could do it in his sleep. I’d told him not to bother giving me a lift. I only live half a mile away and I normally walk, but he was adamant. Under the circumstances, he said. It was nice but crazy. I know Paul’s my godfather and everything, but sometimes he behaves more like my dad than Dad ever does.
And when we arrived he insisted on waiting with me till Dad got back. This I really didn’t need. I wanted to be on my own. My head was starting to ache and I didn’t want to sit downstairs and think of things to say to Danny’s father. But I couldn’t find a way of saying this without sounding rude.
Paul lifted a pile of Dad’s biology journals from the old armchair by the kitchen table, his gaze flicking around the room. Suddenly I saw it all through his eyes. The heap of pans in the sink. The cereal packets on the table. The milk left out of the fridge. All the usual chaos.
I grabbed the dirty knife and plate Dad had abandoned on top of the dishwasher this morning and shoved them inside. Paul looked embarrassed, like I’d caught him spying on us or something.
“What time is your dad home?” he asked.
I glanced at the clock above the toaster. Nearly six. Dad could be ages yet.
“I’ll call him,” I said, realizing Paul must want to get back to Martha and Alice. I picked up the phone and dialled Dad’s number at the university.
But even before it rang, the back door swung open and Dad walked in. His face twitched in surprise when he saw Paul sitting there. And something else, just for a second. Something almost angry.
Paul got up and stepped forwards as if to shake Dad’s hand, then changed his mind, leaving his arm hanging loosely by his side. It was mad. I mean, they’d known each other for ever, since they went to university together years ago, and yet they were just standing there, Paul looking awkward and Dad bewildered. It was like everyone had forgotten what to do with themselves.
I’d had enough. I mumbled something about homework and shot up to my room. But even with the door closed, I could hear the murmur of their voices in the kitchen. Not loud enough to catch what they were saying, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to know.
A bleep from my bag. I grabbed my phone and opened my messages, but the text wasn’t from Danny. It was Lianna, asking me where I’d got to. Hell. I’d forgotten I was supposed to go round to hers tonight.
I thought about calling to explain, but then she’d be bound to ask me what was going on. And somehow, though Lianna’s my best friend at school and the first person I’d turn to after Danny, I couldn’t face all the inevitable questions. The speculation. The lame reassurances.
I sent her a text saying I’d forgotten and was sorry, then flopped on my bed and stared up at the ceiling, exhausted but not sleepy. My eyes were hot and heavy, like I needed to cry. More than anything I felt sort of frozen, as if none of this was real.
Danny would be back soon, I told myself. He’d come home tonight and he’d ring me. And I’d ask him where he’d been, and he’d snigger and say something stupid like “Wouldn’t you just love to know?” in that taunting, teasing way of his. Then he’d give in and tell me, and it would be somewhere obvious, and we’d all kick ourselves and wonder why on earth we never thought of it. And Martha would ground him for ever, but it wouldn’t matter.
Because he’d be back. And that was the only thing that mattered at all.
I’ve no idea how long Alice and I sleep in the hammock, but it must be a while. I wake to the crunch of car tyres on gravel, my neck stiff and achy, the sun already sinking behind Ryall Hill. And remember why I’m here. The text from Martha, something to do with Danny. My stomach chills as I wonder again what’s going on.
I guess I’m about to find out, I think, as Rudman launches himself at the garden gate in a volley of yapping. I look up, expecting to see Martha, but it’s Paul striding towards us, car keys jangling in the pocket of his suit, wearing a smile that looks prepared.
“I thought you were away at a conference?” I clamber out the hammock, rousing Alice.
Paul pushes Rudman down and brushes the dirt off his trousers. “I was, but something’s come up and Martha can’t make it back tonight.”
He bends down and scoops up his daughter, kissing her plump cheek as she blinks and yawns. Despite his cheerful manner, he looks exhausted, a glint of grey in his short hair, his skin pale and sheeny.
“You two been out here long?” Paul eyes me carefully, as if trying to read something in my face.
I shiver in the cool evening air. “A few hours at least.”
“Want Mummy,” Alice mumbles, pouting and rubbing her eyes. I hand over her glasses and she plonks them back on her nose.
“Tired,” her dad concludes. “C’mon, let’s go inside.”
I follow them in, pausing in the kitchen as Paul settles Alice on the sofa in the living room. I hear the theme tune to Alice’s favourite cartoon as he comes back in and slings his jacket over the chair.
“Do you want something to eat?” He scans the contents of the fridge.
I shake my head. “I’m not that hungry.”
Paul grabs a can of beer and rips off the ring pull, glancing at me before taking a sip. “I’d offer you one, Hannah, but I’m not sure your dad would approve.”
“Plenty of kids drink at sixteen.” I grin. “Dad knows that. But you’re off the hook because I hate the taste of beer.”
His smile lasts about a second before his face relapses into that heavy, worried look. He runs his hand over the place where his hair is thinning, though you hardly notice because Paul always keeps it so short. It’s barely more than stubble.
Sitting in the chair opposite, he takes another gulp of beer, twirling the can in his fingers and looking like he’s on the verge of speaking.
“So, what’s going on?” I ask, when he seems to think better of it. “Is everything okay?” My stomach suddenly feels light and hollow. Perhaps I am hungry after all.
Paul ducks my question. “I’m afraid Martha will be gone for a couple of days.”
“A couple of days?” I think of Alice. I’m not sure she’s ever spent a night away from her mother.
He shrugs. “We’ll manage.”
“I could stay and help, if you like. Dad’s deep in some research project, so he’s never back till late.”
His mouth twitches. I get the impression he disapproves of Dad working so much, though I can’t imagine why – Paul works pretty hard himself.
“Thanks, Hannah. An hour or so would be great – I need to make a couple of calls. Then I’ll run you back, okay?”
I nod, wanting to ask again what’s happening. Where has Martha gone? And why did she leave so suddenly?
But I’m afraid. Not of asking, but of knowing.
I make a pile of cheese on toast and Alice and I eat it in front of the TV. I can see Paul talking on his mobile out in the garden. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but his face looks tense, urgent.
Alice stares at the TV, her eyes red and tired. Cartoon cats dance around a pond seething with frogs. I’ve always hated this one. I want to switch it off, watch something else, the news even. Anything. But I don’t want to upset Ally – not right now.
I think about my upcoming exams, the revision I should be doing. But too many other thoughts crowd my head, most of them revolving around Danny and what I suspect is going on. It feels impossible to focus on anything else.
I pull my mobile out my bag and check Martha’s message again, resisting the urge to text her back and ask what’s happening. Whatever it is, she clearly has enough on her plate without me bugging her. I switch it off and put it back, but a second later the house phone rings.
I get to it just before the answerphone kicks in. “Hello?” I’m certain it’s Martha, bracing myself for the sound of her voice.
No reply.
“Hello?” I repeat.
I stop, listening to the eerie silence at the end of the line, heavy, like expectation. With it the first prickle of fear, as always. This isn’t the dead kind of silence you get when there’s no one there or something’s wrong with the line.
This is the silence of someone listening.
“Who is it?” I hiss into the receiver, not wanting Paul or Alice to overhear me. “Why do you keep ringing? What do you want?”
Still nothing.
Then a small noise in the background, barely audible, like someone clearing their throat. I slam the phone down so hard that for a moment I think I’ve broken it.
And realize I’m shaking.
Six days after Danny went missing the police were back. I opened our door to Janet Reynolds’ gentle smile, another officer standing right behind her. A different man this time, bigger with a fatter face. Older.
“Hello, Hannah, is your father in?” Janet asked.
She was in luck. Even Dad didn’t work on Saturday. I left the door ajar, and ran upstairs. Went straight into his study without bothering to knock. “Dad, the police are here. They want to speak to you.”
Dad looked up from his screen and blinked at me through his dark-rimmed glasses. “The police?” He looked wary and, well…scared. I stared at him for a moment. He was almost trembling.
What on earth…?
Then I realized. Remembered the last time the police came to our door, and my mind shrank back from the memory like something stung.
“It’s about Danny,” I reminded him quickly.
“Oh, right…yes.” Dad’s features unfroze a little. “Of course. Just give me a moment.” He turned and pressed a couple of keys on his laptop.
I paused long enough to make sure the message had sunk in, then went back down.
“He’s on his way.”’