Now You See Me (14 page)

I know exactly why that's there. Rice pudding was always Danny's favourite. One birthday he insisted on it instead of cake; when Martha tried sticking in the candles, they tilted and sank before she could light them.

Danny wasn't bothered – he simply pulled them out and tucked in.

I pick at the pile of food on my plate, listening to everyone talking about the weather, the price of houses, Paul's business. Chatting away like nothing ever happened, like Danny didn't disappear for years, then reappear as abruptly as he left.

Like there isn't one great enormous thing we all need to know more than anything: where the hell has Danny been?

I watch him, stealthily, searching for clues. Notice Paul doing the same, chatting to Mr Dickson but eyeing Danny every few seconds, as if he still can't believe he's actually there. Dad, on the other hand, keeps his head down, eating silently and ignoring everyone – I can tell he's counting the minutes till he can make a polite exit.

Danny doesn't say much either, just eats and nods and smiles when anyone speaks to him. Though I can see by the strain in his face that he's finding this hard. I keep trying to catch his eye, hoping to start a conversation, but it's like he's forgotten I'm here.

I'm just going to ask him about France when Mr Dickson gets in first. “Daniel, I guess you'll soon be old enough to learn to drive. Your dad here says he's planning to teach you.”

Paul smiles encouragingly at his son. “I thought you could have Martha's old car. It wouldn't cost too much to insure.”

“Sounds great, Dad,” says Danny, his tone unenthusiastic, like his father had suggested he mow the lawn or help him clean out the garage.

Paul blinks, clearly surprised by his reaction. Danny had always wanted to learn to drive. When he was little, he'd ride his bike round the back garden making revving noises, pulling on the handlebars like he was steering a car.

“Actually I'm planning to teach Hannah next year,” Dad chips in out of nowhere, lifting his eyes to Paul's.

I stare at him. He is? Dad's never mentioned it before.

Paul glances at Dad then looks away, a stiffness in his features he can't quite suppress. Dad carries on eating, oblivious to Martha's tight-lipped expression. I turn to see Danny studying the three of them, coming to some kind of conclusion of his own. Clearly the tension between them all isn't lost on him either.

“Hannah behind a wheel?” he declares suddenly. “Now that I
have
to see.”

Everyone smiles and I feel something lift inside me. Danny could always do that, defuse a situation with his refusal to take anything seriously. At school he ran rings round the teachers, making them laugh at stuff that would get most kids a detention.

I give him a grateful look, then cut a piece of pastry from the edge of my quiche and slide it under the table, waiting for the cold touch of Rudman's nose. But the food remains uneaten in my hand. I lean down and peer underneath. Nothing but human legs and feet.

“I've put him outside,” Martha says as I sit up.

I frown before I can stop myself. Martha adores Rudman. He's always allowed to hover under the table at meals. Why would she shut him out in the rain?

She pretends not to notice, getting up to clear the plates. Danny picks up the salad bowl and starts to follow her out to the kitchen, but she waves him back. “You stay put,” she beams. “After all, you're the guest of honour.”

Danny sits back down and a minute later his mother returns, the rice pudding suspended between two oven gloves.

“Now that looks fabulous.” Mr Dickson leans back in his chair, patting the swell of his belly. “It's not often in my job that I get fed like this.”

Martha spoons him a large portion into a bowl. It gives off a warm, heavy scent of vanilla. She fills another and hands it to me, nodding at Danny. I pass it across and just catch his expression. A small involuntary curl of his lip.

I tuck into mine. It's perfect, creamy and delicious. But as Martha offers seconds, I see Danny has barely touched what he already has. I lean over.

“I thought you loved rice pudding,” I whisper, glancing at Martha.

Danny gives his mother an apologetic shrug. “I guess I'm just full,” he says. “But it was lovely.”

“No problem, sweetheart,” she replies. “I'll save you some for later.”

As soon as the meal ends Dad excuses himself and bolts home to his study. Mr Dickson starts talking to Martha and Danny about getting him back to school, so I slip upstairs with some rice pudding in a bowl and tap lightly on Alice's door.

No answer. I push it open and peer inside. Alice is lying, fully clothed, asleep on the bed, the pink and yellow satin of her best dress crumpled under her bare legs.

A lump rises in my throat. She looks so small somehow, and I can see from the red around her eyes that she's been crying. I want to crawl onto the bed, pull her alphabet quilt over the pair of us and go to sleep beside her. I feel shattered suddenly, like I've climbed a mountain or run a marathon, or swum right across the Bristol Channel.

“Don't worry, Hannah. She's okay.”

Paul's voice makes me jump. I spin round. He's standing on the landing, watching me watch his daughter.

I nod. “I just wanted to say hello. Why didn't she come down for lunch?”

“She refused. Point-blank,” he laughs. “In that way only Alice can.”

I know what he means. Alice looks a bit different and finds it harder to learn stuff, but otherwise she's much the same as anyone else. Only, sometimes, if she can't get her head around something, she can get rather stroppy.

Paul sighs and comes into the room. “I'll be honest, Hannah, she's having a hard time with it all,” he says, keeping his voice low. “She got really upset when Danny arrived. She's barely spoken to him.”

“Upset?”

“We told her Danny was coming back. We tried to explain, to prepare her so it wouldn't be such a surprise, but the moment she saw him she started screaming.”

“Really?” I study her, concerned.

Paul sits on the end of her bed, his shoulders slumping. He rubs his hand over his chin, as if squeezing away the pressure of the last few days. “It was awful. The worst I've ever seen her. In the end I had to carry her up here and sit with her until she calmed down.”

I stare at him. I don't know what to say.

He shuts his eyes, dropping his voice to a whisper. “I don't think she recognizes him any more.”

“God, poor Alice. I guess it's the shock. I mean, he has changed a lot.”

Paul sighs. “I know. We were all taken aback when we first saw him, how grown-up he looks now, how much older. But of course he is… I mean, he's getting on for seventeen, and god only knows what he's been through…”

“Any idea?” I venture.

Paul shakes his head. “John Dickson says to leave it for a bit. Let him get back into the flow of things. It's important that Danny tells us in his own time.”

He puts his hands on both knees, kneading them for a moment before getting back up to his feet. “Anyway, it was all too much for Alice. I suppose she thought he'd look exactly how he did before. How she remembers him.”

I trail Paul back downstairs. I guess we all thought that.

Everyone is still sitting around the table, finishing the wine. Danny must be on his second or third glass, I reckon. I look at Martha – she's doing a very good impression of not having noticed.

She catches my glance. “You look tired.”

“I am,” I say, with an apologetic shrug of my mouth. “I think I'll go, if that's okay. I've got loads of homework and stuff to do.”

Martha nods. “Thank you for coming, Hannah.”

“And thanks for lunch, it was great,” I say, wondering why everything feels so strange and formal all of a sudden.

I turn to say goodbye to Danny, but he drains the rest of his glass and follows me into the kitchen.

“So what's up, titch? Why
are
you leaving so early?”

I look at him. It sounds more like an accusation than a question. He stares back at me, something almost defiant in his eyes.

“Sorry,” I mumble. “It's just all a bit…”

He gazes at me for a few more seconds before his expression softens. “A bit much. Yeah, I know.”

I make an effort to smile. “You really okay?” I examine his face, drawn again to those eyes, the same disconcerting shade of blue.

“I will be. Now I'm home.”

“It must be a relief.”

Danny smiles but doesn't reply.

“Looks painful.” I point towards the bruise just visible between his cap and his eyebrow.

He raises his hand to touch it, running his fingers carefully over the skin. “Yeah. It's getting better though.”

“Who attacked you?”

He shrugs. “I dunno. A bunch of men laid into me. I can't remember much about it. Or anything really.”

I chew the inside of my lip. “Weren't you scared? Out there. On your own.”

He doesn't reply.

“I mean, how did you survive? What did you do all that time you were away?”

Danny's eyes flick away from mine. “Like I said, titch, I can't really remember.”

I watch him, feeling an unexpected wave of frustration. I hadn't realized how many questions I had buzzing around my head. How badly I needed some answers.

“I missed you,” I blurt, not meaning to say it, but knowing if I don't now, I never will. “We all did,” I add, to cover my embarrassment when he doesn't respond.

And from nowhere my frustration curdles into anger. How can Danny just stand there, so casually, as if nothing has happened? Has he no idea what we've been through?

Doesn't he care?

His cheeks flush. He looks past me, trying to hide the emotion in his face. All at once I see the old Danny again and my anger fades. I want to hug him, to shrug off this awkwardness and start again.

“Danny, I—”

At that moment a yelp sounds from outside, followed by the scratch of Rudman's claws on the back door. Without thinking, I move to let him in. He shoots into the house, shaking off the rain, tail wagging furiously, then his big brown eyes fix on Danny and he freezes. He takes a step forwards, a low deep growl emerging from his throat.

“Rudman!” I grab hold of his collar and yank him
back.

Rudman stops growling, but his eyes never leave Danny.

“Come on, Rudders, old boy. It's me, Danny.” He squats down and holds out his hand towards the dog, palm turned up, as if offering him something. But Rudman's hackles rise still further, and his lips curl into an ugly snarl.

“Rudman! Bad dog! What's got into you?” I shove him back out the door with my foot, then turn around. Danny's standing there, hands in his pockets, wearing a bemused expression.

“He'll get used to you again – he's just a bit freaked out,” I say. “I guess we all are.”

Danny shrugs. “And they say dogs never forget.”

“I think you'll find that's elephants,” I joke, trying to shake off the gloom that seems to have settled between us.

There's an odd expression on Danny's face. A kind of pleading. Like he wants something from me.

“Okay.” I grab my coat from the door hook. Suddenly I can't take any more. All I want to do is leave. “Bye then.”

Danny observes my retreat. “See ya, wouldn't wanna be ya,” he says abruptly, and heads back towards the dining room.

I stop. I can't move. My throat feels tight and my eyes hot and stingy.

Just six words, and I'm back there, that Sunday afternoon, watching Danny push off on his bike and head down the road, the front wheel wobbling as he lifts his hand to wave goodbye.

“See ya, wouldn't wanna be ya.”

The very last thing he said to me.

“Come on, Hannah,
'
fess up.” Sophie Fox leans over my desk, her face all smiles and dimples. “Tell us about Danny. You must have seen him.”

“Yeah, go on, Radcliffe, spill. Give us all the gory details.” Vicky Clough pulls out a chair and sits beside me, her skirt riding up her thighs. Lianna raises her eyebrows at me, suppressing a smile. Across the classroom, curious stares minnow around us.

News of Danny's return has travelled fast – even during the Easter holidays. Everyone in the school knows, it seems, and everyone in the school wants to know more.

“How is he?” Vicky is practically breathless with excitement. “Is he okay?”

Vicky always had a crush on Danny. She once spent a whole term wanting to hang out, only to drop me overnight when Rick Thomas asked her out instead.

I give in. “Yes, I've seen him. And he's fine.”

“So, how does he look?”

“Good, I guess. Great.”

“How do you mean, ‘great'?” demands Vicky, her expression guarded. Clearly she still hasn't accepted Danny and I are just friends.

“Taller.” I shrug. “Older.”

Vicky's gaze drifts to mid-air. I can tell she's trying out this new version of Danny in her head; from the way she purses her lips and smiles to herself, she clearly likes what she sees.

“But the real question,” Sophie glances round the classroom before leaning in confidentially, “is where—”

“I don't know,” I cut in, saving her the bother of asking. “I have no idea where he's been.”

Sophie snorts. “Oh, come on…”

At that moment Mr Young walks in, his harassed expression and brusque glare at the three of us sparing me further interrogation. Sophie gives me a reproachful look before sidling back to her desk, but Vicky nudges me gently.

“Tell him ‘hi' from me, will you?” She flashes me a quick smile before Mr Young orders her to sit down.

After school I find Danny slumped on the sofa in front of some programme about Canadian truckers, eyes fixed on a lingering shot of an articulated lorry sinking into a vast frozen lake. I stand to the side, waiting for him to notice me.