Now You See Me (15 page)

“Hey,” I say, when he doesn't. “How are you?”

He yawns, glancing up then back at the half-submerged truck. “What's up, titch?”

“Nothing. Just wondered how you're doing. Everyone's been asking about you at school.”

“Yeah?”

I lower myself into the armchair, since Danny isn't showing any sign of giving me room on the sofa. Besides, it means I can study him while pretending to watch TV.

I still can't take my eyes off him. Danny's been back a couple of weeks now, and already he looks different. The bruise above his eye has faded and his face has filled out, losing that lean, tired look. I let my gaze loiter over the faint line of stubble covering his chin and top lip, the smooth planes of his cheeks.

He's wearing that cap again, but the hair curling around its edges seems thinner, straighter somehow, and longer, covering his ears. Danny always kept it short before, so it dried quickly after swimming.

“Vicky sends her love.”

I wait for him to laugh, but he doesn't even look up. Vicky's crush on Danny was something I always teased him about, winding him up by copying that slurry way she talks.

“She's practically bursting at the prospect of seeing you again.”

“That's nice.”

“You'll see her next Saturday,” I say, “and all the others.” Martha's invited everyone to the party to celebrate Danny's return – half our year seems to be going. “You looking forward to it?”

“Of course.” Danny flicks to a news programme. I can tell he's barely listening to me. “So will you be coming back? To school, I mean?”

“I guess so.”

“But you've missed loads. And the exams start soon. It hardly seems worth it.”

Danny shrugs. “Mum still thinks I should go back. I've got to sit some tests and stuff to see what level I'm at.”

Something snags his attention and he leans forward, turning up the volume. A reporter is describing a riot in Marseilles – there's concern it might spread to other areas of France. I sit there, scrutinizing Danny as he watches the screen.

“
…as the unrest has extended to the districts surrounding the city, the police have mobilized…
”

I think about all the times I've pictured this moment. How it would be when he got back, all the things I would ask him, and all the things I'd have to tell him. I never imagined it would be like this.

Give him a chance, the voice in my head reminds me. But I can't help myself. I'm determined to get him to talk.

“Danny?”

He looks at me like he'd forgotten I was even here. “Mmmm?”

“Are you sure you can't remember anything? I mean, surely some of it must be coming back?”

Danny's focus returns to the room. He sucks in a breath and slowly releases it, finally turning his shoulders to give me his full attention. “Yes. I mean, not really. Nothing concrete.”

“Concrete?”

“Just odd impressions. Strange dreams.”

“What kind of dreams?”

Danny stares at me in open annoyance. There's something else in his eyes. Something guarded. “I don't know, Hannah. Bad dreams. Running, being scared. Alone.”

He turns back. The news has moved on to a story about the Middle East. Soldiers in sand-coloured uniforms run across a desert landscape. He switches to another channel.

“But you can remember before? I mean, before you left?”

“Of course.”

“So it's just the stuff after you disappeared.”

“Yeah.”

“Up till when you got beaten up in France. Just before the police found you.”

Danny doesn't answer. Just points the remote at the TV and plays with the volume. I notice his hand twitching as he does it.

“I mean, that's a bit odd, isn't it? Why only then? Why not all your life?”

“How should I know?” Danny spins round again, his voice hard. “What's with the cross-examination, Hannah? So many people asking me questions. How about you leave all this stuff to the shrink?”

“You're seeing a psychiatrist?” I know I sound surprised.

“Yeah. Mum's orders. Leave no stone unturned and all that. So I don't need the third degree from you as well, okay?”

I look at him, stunned. I've never seen Danny like this. Never heard him so…so
angry
. My face flushes with heat. “Sorry,” I mumble, “I didn't mean to upset you.”

I feel crushed. My chest actually hurts. Danny regards me coolly, running his tongue over his teeth. I wait for him to say something, to break the gulf of silence between us.

Instead he leans forward and turns off the telly, heading out the door without a word, the sound of his footsteps resounding all the way up to his room.

“What's up?”

Dad stands over the sofa, eyeing me with concern. I've been lying here for over an hour, picking my nails and staring out the window. Across the road, the neighbours are repainting their house, one of them up a ladder doing the bit above the front door. There doesn't seem much point – it looks exactly the same shade of cream it was before.

“Hey, Hannah, I asked you a question.”

Dad leans over and dumps a pile of journals on the coffee table. I glance at the one on top.
Human Genomics and Proteomics.
Good grief. That should keep him happy for hours.

“Nothing's up.”

Dad raises an eyebrow.

“Okay,” I sigh. “I went to see Danny. It didn't go well.”

“How so?”

“I tried talking to him.”

“What about?”

“Everything. What happened, what he can remember. He got pissed off.”

“Ah.” Dad sits down in the armchair opposite and balances his elbows on his knees. He spreads his fingers and presses them together, resting his chin on top. His thinking pose.

“I don't know. I just feel…” I struggle to find the words, then give up. “I don't know what to feel.”

Dad doesn't speak for a moment.

“Sounds natural, Hannah. After all, this isn't exactly a typical situation, is it? Everyone is bound to be upset and confused. It'll settle down.”

“I suppose. I only want to help. Get things back to normal.”

As soon as I say this I recognize how absurd it sounds. And how very much I want it to be true. I guess part of me had been hoping that Danny and I could pick up where we left off.

Or rather start afresh, erasing those months of weirdness before he left.

But now I understand, with a chill in my stomach, that there's no way back to how things were before. And it hurts.

It's like losing him all over again.

Martha is standing in Danny's room, rooting through a jumble of stuff on the bed. My heart gives a little start of surprise. Danny's clothes. The ones that sat in the wardrobe, untouched, all this time.

“Hello, Hannah.” She beckons me over. “Want to give me a hand?”

“I was looking for Danny.” I haven't seen him since our confrontation several days ago and I want to make up. Try and get things back on track between us.

“You just missed him, sweetheart. He's gone out with Paul. Something about getting a new phone.”

I scan the room. Already so much has changed. The football posters have disappeared from the wall, along with the magazines and DVDs scattered across his desk. There's no sign of Danny's swimming trophies, and it smells different – fresher, faintly lemony.

“I don't suppose this still fits?” I pick up a T-shirt from the heap on the bed, running my hand across the front. It's the one Paul brought back from Sydney with the picture of the kangaroo – always Danny's favourite. “Tie me kangaroo down, sport,” he sang whenever he wore it. Even the time we had a non-uniform day at school and that exchange teacher from Australia accused him of taking the piss.

“Strewth, no,” Danny drawled in the worst Aussie accent you ever heard, and the whole class collapsed into hysterics and even the teacher had to laugh.

“Miles too small.” Martha takes the T-shirt and puts it into a bag, then dangles a pair of black trousers in front of me. “Good enough for charity?”

I nod, catching sight of a couple of paint swatches standing on the window sill – one a slatey shade of grey-blue, the other more green in tone.

Martha follows my gaze. “I'm redecorating. Something a bit more grown-up.”

I smile to hide my unease. A few weeks ago, Danny's mother wouldn't have dreamed of touching anything in this room – now she's repainting and tossing out his things like they're rags.

“Has he grown out of everything?” I finger a pair of shorts; they look almost new.

“Pretty much. I don't think there's anything here we can salvage.” She folds another pair of trousers and puts them in a bag. “Anyway, it's time for a fresh start.”

A squeal in the doorway. Alice runs in, leaping onto the bed and trampolining towards me, a small whirlwind of excitement. “Hannah, Hannah, Hannah!”

I grab her before she sends me flying.

“Love you, Hannah.” Alice wraps her arms round my neck and squeezes tight.

I laugh. “Love you too, Bugsy.”

She flops back onto the bed, stretching out her legs and staring at her feet. Her mouth makes a cross shape.

“You okay?” I pull at one of her toes through her tights.

She kicks my hand away. “Don't like that bad man.”

“Bad man?”

“Alice!” Martha snaps, with a sharpness that makes me wince. “I've told you not to say that.”

Alice's eyes shine with defiance, her bottom lip trembling. She jumps up, sticks her tongue out at her mother, then runs back out the room.

Martha rests her hands on the bed and sighs. “I've no idea what's up with her.”

“Does she mean Danny?”

Martha nods and her face clouds. “It's really thrown her, his coming back out of the blue. She still doesn't seem to recognize him.”

I flashback to the months after he disappeared, the way Alice carried round that photo of him, cuddling it like a teddy bear. “Danny back?” she asked, over and over, never satisfied with any answer you gave her.

“I suppose it's not surprising,” Martha says. “She was so small when he left.”

I look at her, unsure what to say. Could Alice really have forgotten Danny, even after all this time? From the moment she could crawl, she trailed her brother with a devotion not even Rudman could equal. Danny would get back from school to find her waiting at the back gate, knuckles white from gripping the ironwork, eyes fixed on the drive. There for hours, Martha said.

“Still, there's good news,” she cuts in. “The doctor's given Danny a clean bill of health. There's nothing physically wrong with him, as far as they can tell. Though all he seems to do is eat and sleep.”

“I guess that's a good thing. It means he's recovering.”

“Yes. Dr Wilson said that's all he could prescribe – food and rest.”

I watch her sort through a pile of shoes, some going into the bag for charity, the others into a pile for recycling. “Such a shame,” Martha mutters, looking over a pair of black leather boots. “These were brand new.” She gives them one last regretful glance and stuffs them into the charity bag.

I watch for a minute, then clear my throat and take the plunge. “Has he said yet what happened? I mean, where he's been?”

Martha stiffens slightly. “No, Hannah. He hasn't.” She pauses, looking out the window across the bay. “He still says he can't remember, though I don't think he likes me asking.”

Me neither, I think.

“It's all a blank apparently. Just odd scenes and things, impressions. Nothing coherent.”

I look at her, dumbfounded. “But is that possible? I mean, to forget so much?”

“Dr Wilson says it is. He thinks Danny was knocked out when he was attacked, though there's no sign of lasting damage. He believes Danny will remember after a while.”

How long is a while? I wonder. I mean, it's already been nearly four weeks since the attack.

“It could be months, according to Dr Wilson,” Martha says, reading my mind. “Even longer. It's impossible to tell.” She pulls her eyes from the view and meets mine. “I don't suppose Danny's mentioned anything to you?”

“Nothing,” I reply, thinking of his resentment when I asked. The look he gave me. Cold and hostile.

Martha's eyes linger on me for a moment, then she picks up a pile of socks and throws them into the bin. “Anyway, Dr Wilson has booked him in for an MRI scan. Just to make sure.”

“Okay.”

“Well, I don't think we should push it. Danny clearly doesn't like it and Dr Wilson thinks we should just give him time.” Her tone contains a hint of warning. Danny must have told her I was bugging him.

“Okay,” I say again, looking away. After all, she's right. We waited long enough for Danny to come home.

It won't kill us to wait a little longer to find out why he left.

“Penny for them.”

I find Dad sitting in the corner right at the end of the hallway. He's got a glass of champagne in his hand, but doesn't exactly look like he's celebrating. I get a pang of guilt for making him come.

“They're not even worth that.”

“C'mon, Dad. Make an effort.”

He examines me in my new dress and something comes into his eyes. “You look lovely,” he says after a pause. “Just like…” He stops. Swallows.

I sit down beside him. He turns and gives me a weak smile. I know he's thinking about Mum.

“Sorry,” he says. “You know parties aren't really my thing.”

They used to be, I think, remembering when Dad was always up for a bit of fun. He and Mum loved fancy dress. They went to one party as a flamenco dancer and a matador – while Mum looked gorgeous in her ruffly black dress, Danny and I almost died laughing at the sight of Dad in his red braided jacket and knee-length gold trousers.