Now You See Me (8 page)

No prize for us, though. Only the inevitable shake of the head.

“No,” he said finally. “Never seen 'im.”

“Would you mind if we left a copy of his picture and details?” Martha held out a smaller version of our poster. “If there's anything you remember, anything at all, my number's on the bottom.”

The man took it, nodding without speaking, and we said goodbye. Pulling the gate behind us, I glanced back at the door. It was already closed.

Seventeen houses to go. I counted as we walked down the street to the neighbouring driveway, trying not to think about how long it would be before I got home and had something decent to eat. Not to mention my homework; I still had those geography questions from last week and a pile of French verbs to learn for a test.

“You okay?” Martha asked, catching my expression. Like Dad, she had an uncanny knack of reading my mood.

“Fine,” I lied.

No way was I letting her send me back. Martha did too much of this on her own as it was. Paul refused to come with her, even when he wasn't working. He didn't approve, I'd gathered – and he wasn't the only one. Janet Reynolds was far from keen. And judging by Alice's recent tantrums, you could add her to the list.

I'd even tried to broach it myself. “Haven't the police already done this?” I asked when Martha first showed me the map and told me about her door-to-door campaign.

“Yes, but only in those areas you and Danny went to. I just want to make sure we cover everywhere, that's all.”

Covering everywhere in a town of over 30,000 inhabitants was easier said than done, I knew. And Martha knew it too. But where most people would have given up before they even got started, Martha ploughed on.

It was like her life had shrunk to just one thing: finding Danny.

“I have to make sure, Hannah,” she'd said, looking right at me. “No matter how long that takes or what it costs, I have to try absolutely everything I can think of.”

So I figured the least I could do was stand here beside her, as often as I could manage. But as we walked up the path to the next house – as smart as its neighbour was neglected – I was beginning to wonder how much more I could take. Three weeks down the line and we still had nothing – no one had seen Danny or knew anything about him. The hope I'd felt when we first started was turning into something bleaker.

Martha lifted the polished brass knocker in the centre of the door and gave it three strong raps. I glanced at the leaflets in my hand as we waited, at Danny beaming back at me from every page.

I remembered the day that photo was taken. It was cropped from a larger picture, snapped outside the local swimming pool, where Danny had just won the freestyle race in the regional championship. What you couldn't see in this fragment was me standing next to him, holding the small silver trophy over his head, as pleased as if I'd won it myself.

All you could see here was Danny, that smile, the crinkles round his eyes from laughing. A face that haunted me now, a constant reminder of his absence. Everywhere I went, it loomed out at me – from every shop and lamp post, every bus stop on the way to school, every corridor and classroom when I arrived. It was like one of those paintings where the eyes seem to follow you around the room; only I couldn't walk away – a few steps later the same set of eyes picked up where the last lot left off.

It made me sad, but it was also a little creepy. Like being spied on by your best friend.

“You sure you're okay?” Martha asked again, picking up on my fatigue. I nodded, forcing myself to look brighter. She turned back to the door and I focused on the freshly painted windows to the left of me. Through the open curtains I could see a vase of flowers sitting on the mantelpiece. Above it hung a picture, an abstract swirl of colours.

This person definitely wasn't old.

Martha rapped the knocker again, glancing at the plan in her pocket. The idea was to cover thirty houses a day, starting from the west side of town beyond the pier and moving across towards the motorway. My job was simple: “Just see if you recognize anyone,” Martha had said. “Anyone who might have had anything to do with Danny.”

So I stood behind her, scanning the faces that appeared. Took in their puzzled look as they found two strangers on their doorstep, sometimes half shutting the door again in case we were about to mug them. Watched their expression change to sympathy and concern as Martha explained why we were here.

Occasionally the door was opened by someone I knew. The first time was the worst. While Martha spoke to her mother, I could see Ella Thompson, a girl from my year, hovering in the background. Her incredulous look made my insides squirm, and the next day at school it was obvious everyone knew about our visit.

Though no one asked about it. Not even Lianna.

At this house, however, nothing seemed to be happening. I shuffled from side to side, chasing away the numbness in my feet. Martha examined the pretty stained glass panel in the door, probably wondering whether to knock a third time.

Chances are they were out. Another minute and we could post the leaflet through the letter box and move on. I felt a flush of relief. The ones I dreaded weren't those who were absent or slammed the door in our faces. The worst were those who tried to help. Usually women, they'd start asking questions, often recalling the reports in the paper, wanting to hear the whole story. Before we knew it, we were inside, sipping yet another mug of tea, eating another biscuit, going through it all.

Over and over and over again.

All we got were bursting bladders and a slow shake of their head. The same words, like they were reading from a script:

“I can hardly imagine how you feel.”

“I'm so sorry…I would love to help, but I really can't think of anything.”

“I do so hope you find him.”

And they'd close the door behind us with a kind of reluctance, like we were something they were loath to give up on.

But nothing doing here, it seemed. I was about to suggest to Martha that we move on when a noise came from inside. Someone hurried down the stairs and the door swung open. A woman in dark jeans and a soft, cosy-looking cream jumper beamed out at us.

“I'm so sorry I took so long,” she panted. “I was upstairs on the phone and I couldn't get away. I kept saying there was someone at the door…”

“That's okay.” Martha held out the leaflet and introduced us yet again.

The woman looked at Danny's picture, then back at us, her face glowing with kindness and sympathy.

“Oh goodness. You poor things. I can't even begin to imagine how hard this must be for you.” She glanced at the leaflet again, then took a small step back. “Yes, I remember reading about this. Why not come in for a minute while I take a closer look?”

Already she was moving aside, holding the door open to give us room to get past. Martha stepped forward, and I followed, my heart sinking right through the soles of my shoes.

“I'll be back in a couple of hours.” Paul grabs his jacket and a few of Martha's reusable shopping bags from the peg on the back door.

“No problem,” I say. “Take your time. Alice and I will be fine.”

I don't blame him for not wanting to take her. Alice isn't good in supermarkets; she wants everything she sees and can be pretty vocal if she can't have it.

“Thanks.” He looks at me like he wants to add something else. I assume it's about Martha and why she's still away, and steel myself for news.

“I was wondering…” Paul sounds artificially breezy, the way you do when you're pretending something has just occurred to you. “Maybe when I get back, we might go down to the seafront for a bit of lunch? The three of us, I mean.”

I can't tell if he's asking or assuming. To be honest I'd rather go home and get on with some revision, but something in Paul's expression tells me he really wants me to stay. So I nod. “Sure.”

“Fish and chips it is then,” he says, with what I can tell is an effort to sound relaxed and cheerful. Whatever's going on with Martha is clearly playing on his mind as much as mine.

Alice, however, is oblivious to the tension. “Hurrah!” she yells, raising both hands in the air and shaking them around, her face a manic grin of delight.

She reminds me so much of her brother I have to look away.

When Alice gets bored of cartoons, I suggest taking Rudman out for a walk. Alice groans, then warms to the idea, grabbing Rudman's lead and running to put on her shoes. But right as we're leaving, the phone rings.

I remember yesterday's call, the silence at the end of the line, and my stomach chills. I pick the receiver up cautiously, bracing myself.

“Hannah… Hannah?”

Martha's voice sounds crackly, uncertain. The reception keeps cutting in and out. She must be on her mobile.

“I can't really hear you.”

“Hang on.” There's a few muffled sounds as she adjusts the phone. “Is that better?” Her voice is echoey, but at least I can make out what she's saying.

“Better.”

“The signal here isn't very good. Sorry.”

“Where are you?” I ask before I can stop myself.

“Paris,” says Martha quickly. “Listen, I can't explain now, sweetheart. But I will. I just wanted to check everything's okay. Paul said you were minding Alice. How is she?”

“Fine. Missing you. Keeps asking where you are. We're about to take Rudman for a walk.”

“Good. I'll be back the day after tomorrow hopefully.”

In the background I can hear voices. Men's voices. Foreign accents. One of them calls Martha's name, and I get a flash of dread. What's going on?

“I also wanted to say thank you, Hannah, for all your help. I know you've got enough on your plate with your exams.” Martha's voice is suddenly wobbly with emotion. “I really appreciate it.”

“It's fine,” I say. “Really. I can study here.”

I mean it. I love coming over to help with Ally. When Danny vanished it left a hole in Ally's life that I've tried my best to fill. Just as Martha did when my mother died.

“Look, sweetheart, I have to go.” Martha sounds rushed. “Give Ally a big kiss for me, will you?”

“I will.”

The line goes dead before I can say goodbye.

We take Rudman out along the path that zigzags up through Church Woods. I'm walking and talking all the time to Alice, but another part of my mind is trying to figure out what on earth Martha's doing in France. I'm stumped. I can't think of a single reason that makes any sense, but my feeling of unease is growing.

Whatever's going on, it must be something big.

Rudman heads off into the undergrowth that borders the path. There's no sign of him for ages, only the occasional yip of excitement as he flushes out a rabbit.

“Stupid dog,” says Alice solemnly, making me smile. Stupid dog indeed. Rudman never appears to learn that rabbits are much faster than him, especially now he's getting on a bit. Not that he cares – all the fun is in the chase.

As if on cue he emerges, panting, from a thicket of brambles, wearing a broad doggy grin and a fair bit of foliage in his fur. Alice giggles, and I put him on the lead so we don't lose him again.

We head through the beech woods behind the old castle, the sun breaking out through the clouds, making everything bright and fresh. Danny and I used to come up here all the time. We'd drag our bikes right up to the top of the hill and Danny would yell “Race ya!” and off we'd go, hurtling down, wheels bouncing over stones and tree roots, bikes flying over humps and landing with a breath-jolting thump.

By the time you got to the bottom you felt like your teeth had been rattled loose in your head. I'd be trailing him by miles and he'd wait for me at the bottom, grinning, victorious. I didn't mind. I wasn't bothered about winning. I just liked being with him.

As Alice and I zigzag down the path, I get a cramp in my heart, an actual physical ache. I miss all that, even though it was nearly four years ago and I'm now too old for bikes. I miss spending half my life outside – here or down on the beach or over on the salt marshes. I miss those long days, those endless hours where you completely lose track of time.

Most of all I miss Danny. And I still wonder why all that stopped, so suddenly, a few months after Mum died. The fun, easy times we had together, the connection I thought could never be broken. Why did it end?

Or rather, why did Danny end it? Quite suddenly, like he'd developed an allergy to everything we used to do. Like he'd developed an allergy to
me
. He wasn't rude or anything, just sort of made himself scarce. Left the room as soon as I walked in. Invented excuses if I suggested we go do something together. He'd disappear off to his bedroom, or leave the house on his own, staying away for ages and never telling me where he'd been.

I had no idea what was going on. I tried asking him once, about what I'd done wrong, what had made him change. He just looked at me. He didn't try to deny it or pretend that everything was okay. He simply gazed at me in a helpless sort of way.

“It's not you,” was all he said.

But I could never quite shake off the feeling that it was.

“Budge up a bit.”

I shifted over to give her some room and Lianna plonked herself down on the sofa next to me and Maisy. It was a bit of a squash and I had to curl up my legs to keep them out the way. My whole body felt fidgety and awkward. Nervous.

“Only a few minutes to go.” Maisy grinned, hardly able to keep the anticipation from her voice. I saw Dad glance at her, and regretted again agreeing to have them over. Part of me was grateful they'd asked – in the six months since Danny disappeared, they were the only friends I had, and I appreciated them sticking by me. But another part felt exposed, like everything inside me was on show.