Now You See Me (2 page)

“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.