Now You See Me (29 page)

But there's fear in her eyes. I can see her mind winding back to the past. Assembling all the clues.

She knows I'm right, I think, and something snaps inside me.

He knew. Danny knew.
They all knew.

And they all hid it from me.

A cold thrill of resentment seethes through me, drowning my misgivings. “Actually, I have some letters for you, Martha.” I pull the sheets from my pocket and toss them onto the bed beside her. They're crumpled and stiff from a night drying out on the towel rail, but they're still legible.

Martha eyes them for a moment, then picks them up and unfolds them. I watch the colour seep from her cheeks as she reads.

“Where did you get these?” She looks up, her expression confused, bewildered.

“Danny's room.”

She flips through the sheets again, scanning every word. “I don't understand. They're addressed to me. How come I never saw them before?”

“Because Eric got to them before you did.”

“Eric?” She stares at me, perplexed. “Who's Eric?”

I look at her and, even now, despite everything, I hesitate. My next words will tear Martha's world to pieces. The thrill that possessed me a few moments ago has vanished, leaving the awful weight of someone's life in my hands.

And then I understand. This is how Dad felt. Martha and Paul.
Danny
. This is why no one was able to tell me the truth about my father.

This is why it was easier for Danny to disappear.

Martha's still gazing at me with that dazed expression, like someone looking up from their steering wheel to see a juggernaut heading straight towards them. I could lie to her, I think, explain away those letters. I could do what Eric suggested. Let her carry on believing he was Danny.

But no. Not any more. Eric has gone – I don't even need to check in his room to be sure of that.

And I'm equally certain he's never coming back.

“Eric is Danny.” I say it quickly before I can change my mind. “Or rather, he isn't Danny. He's just been pretending to be him.”

I watch Martha's look of bewilderment morph to scorn. “Don't be ridiculous, Hannah. You're making this up. I understand that you're very upset about—”

“Look in his room.”

Martha blinks. “I don't need to. I don't know exactly why you're doing this, Hannah, but—”

“Just
look,
Martha!”

My voice comes out louder than I intended, almost a shout. Martha flinches in surprise, then gets up and walks out. I hear the door open to Danny's room, its telltale little creak. Then silence. A long, long silence.

I sit, unmoving, thoughts and feelings swirling like a cyclone in my head, gathering momentum. A maelstrom of emotions. Anger at Mum, at Paul, at Martha. Even Dad. How could they do that? How could they lie to me like that?

And Danny…how could he see me almost every day, knowing what he did…and say nothing.

Then I think of that last day, his hesitation on the beach. The words I sensed playing at the corner of his mouth.

Was that it? Was he fighting the urge to tell me the truth?

In an instant I see how hard it was for Danny. How
impossible
. His dad had cheated and his mum had lied, and then his best friend was suddenly his half-sister. And he couldn't talk about any of it – least of all to me.

How could he face taking away my father when I had only just lost my mother?

My head is reeling so much I lean it back against Martha's bed. Just at that moment I hear a muffled thump from Danny's bedroom. I scramble to my feet and run in. Martha is crumpled on the floor, looking like her legs simply collapsed beneath her.

“Oh god…” I grab her under the arms and pull her over to the bed. I can feel her body trembling, the terrible weight of her despair.

“Martha…”

“He's gone. Taken half his things…he must have left in the night.”

I nod.

“How did you know…? When did Danny…?”

“He's not Danny, Martha. He never was. His name is Eric Fougère. He's half French. He's twenty-two years old.”

Martha recoils as if slapped. “That's impossible,” she stammers. “Ludicrous. I'd have known…”

“But we
didn't
know, did we?” I say, letting the words sink in. “And it's not the first time he's done it, pretended to be someone who's missing. He's had plenty of practice.”

“I can't believe…” She shakes her head. “I just can't believe…”

But I can see she does. All those things that didn't add up. All those clues. All those doubts. I'm watching the penny drop, slowly, like a stone sinking down towards the seabed.

She slumps on the bed, head in hands, a terrible wailing noise coming from deep inside her. A howl, like an animal in pain. I stand, transfixed, watching her, unsure what to do. Wait until the moaning subsides and Martha lifts her head and finally looks at me. Her face has drained to the colour of pale sand.

“But how could he know…? I mean, everything about Danny? About us?”

“The internet,” I shrug. “The TV programme, photographs, videos. He pieced it all together. He's very clever.”

Martha sinks her head into her hands. Sits there for a minute or two, then raises it again. She looks ghastly, like someone in shock.

“Where is he?” she asks abruptly.

“Who? Eric?”

Martha nods.

“I don't know. I haven't seen him since yesterday evening.”

“Did he say he was leaving?”

“No. But he knew he couldn't stay.”

Martha lapses back into silence. Something has broken inside her. She looks utterly defeated. And I feel sorry then. Desperately sorry to be the bearer of the worst kind of news.

Because Martha has done her best for me, I know that. Despite everything. When even the sight of me must remind her daily of Paul's betrayal, of Mum's, she still tries to be there for me.

“I still don't see how he could know so…” she stammers, then falls quiet. Seconds later she looks back at me, her expression suddenly hopeful. “Hannah, do you think it's possible…this Eric, might he have met Danny? Could he know where he is?”

I stare at her, my thoughts crashing around my head like waves trapped in a gully.

Some promises you just can't break.
Wasn't that what Eric said? And what is a promise, except a pact between two people?

Between Eric and Danny.

Martha is looking at me, a terrible pleading in her eyes. And I think of all those weeks, months, years she spent looking. All that time. All that grief.

And I know that if I tell her what I suspect, all that will start over again. The searching, the waiting. The endless, restless hoping.

The disappointment.

I swallow. “No,” I say evenly, “I don't think so.”

The lie leaves a taste in my mouth, bitter and sour. But what Eric said about the promise – that told me everything. That if Danny ever wanted to be found, he would be. It was his choice.

And one I knew he'd already made.

“
Qu'est-ce vous prenez, mademoiselle?
”

I look up from my book to see the waiter standing over me. The one that served me yesterday – and the day before. Indeed, there's recognition in his smile, and I wonder what he thinks of this strange English girl who's spent most of the week sitting alone in his little beach cafe.

“
Encore un coca, s'il vous plaît
.”

He pauses as he removes my old glass, cloudy with melted ice. He wants to talk, I can see that. To ask me what I'm doing here.

I wish I knew. What seemed like a good idea a few weeks ago, in the euphoria of finishing my A-levels, now feels completely mad. Not to mention boring.

I dig in my purse for another five euros, trying not to flinch at the cost. Nothing comes cheap in the South of France.

“
Non
.” The waiter waves away my money. “
Gratuit
. On the house,” he adds in his heavily accented English. “To thank you for your loyal custom.”

He looks at me, obviously hoping I'll say more, but I stick to a grateful smile. When he's gone, I take a sip from the fresh glass of Coke, enjoying the cool fizz against my tongue. It's late afternoon, but the air is still sizzling with heat, and all of me feels hot and sticky.

And restless. I try to focus on my book, but can't get back into the story. I let my eyes wander across the beach, taking in the view of the sea, the little yachts out in the bay, the sunlight glinting on the tops of the waves. The crowds that clustered along the sands are beginning to thin now, I notice, as people head back for aperitifs and a leisurely dinner.

Café sur la Plage, Almanarre, Hyères.

That's all the email said. One line, from an address I didn't recognize. No name, only the date it was sent, three weeks ago. And the date I should arrive.

An invitation. One I couldn't refuse.

Dad, as I still insist on calling him, thinks I'm on holiday with Lianna and a bunch of other friends from school, to celebrate the end of our exams. It's true enough, I tell myself, though it doesn't stop the ache of guilt. I hate pulling the wool over his eyes – especially after everything that's happened.

But if I told him the whole truth, he'd worry. Ditto Paul, who no longer has to hide his concern when I go round. He lives alone now, in the flat he rented after his split with Martha. I see her too, and not just because of Alice; I want to stay in touch, make sure she's okay. Martha's never been the same since Eric left. I guess it finally broke her.

Which is one reason I'm here, though I know it's insane coming all this way with no idea what awaits me at the other end. But I want to tell Eric about Martha, about the damage he's done. About the damage he might now be doing to some other family. I want him to understand something I learned in science years ago – that every action, no matter how small, has a reaction.

Though in life, as opposed to physics, I'm learning it's rarely the one you expect.

I rescan the beach, searching the crowds for a familiar face. I know he's here somewhere, watching, waiting for the right moment.

Just as he knew I'd come. Out of curiosity, if nothing else. I've spent the last two years thinking about Eric. I've cycled through every possible emotion – anger, disbelief, sympathy and back again – always ending up right where I started. Nowhere near understanding what really went on in his head.

Or Danny's. I've spent countless hours thinking about why he left. How it all became too much. How he couldn't bear to lie to me. And yet…the fact that my best friend could keep such a huge secret proves you don't know anyone. Not really. Not deep down. There could have been anything going on in his life.

I'll never know the real truth. I've accepted that.

I pull my eyes back to my book, but something in the distance snags my attention. A man, walking towards the cafe, baseball cap pulled close over his eyes, jeans slouching on his hips. I study his progress, my heart rate beginning to quicken as he approaches. I can see the hint of blond hair round his neck, a slight strut in the way he walks.

Is it him?

I crane my head as the figure disappears behind a couple still lounging under their parasol. Just when I think I've lost him, he reappears a few metres away. I'm about to get to my feet, to run over, when he looks right at me.

I bite my lip in disappointment. Too short, the wrong build. Not even Eric could disguise that.

I slump back into my seat, feeling almost tearful with frustration. Is this another of Eric's elaborate games? Why drag me here if he's got nothing to say?

After all, he owes me. For letting him vanish as quickly and neatly as he appeared, like a genie returning to its bottle.

I snap my book shut and toss it onto the table. It skids on the polished glass, nearly tipping into the sand as I grab my handbag and walk fast down towards the sea. A young girl strolls past with a dog nearly as big as herself, practically dragging her across the beach. With her long ponytail, she looks a bit like Alice, though the dog is black and much too large to be Rudman.

The sight of her makes my heart contract. I know how much Alice will be missing me. She hugged me so hard when I left I nearly fell over.

“Come back very soon,” she said, before she finally let me go.

“Promise,” I replied, meaning it. After all, Alice is the one person in my life who doesn't make it feel more complicated, the one person I can be sure will never let me down.

“
Maman!
”

The little girl spots her mother over by the edge of the water, and runs to meet her, the dog bounding alongside, panting in the heat. The woman gives her daughter a quick hug and takes her hand. I can see they're busy talking, but I'm too far away to catch what they say.

An image of Mum flashes into my mind. Us paddling back at home, on that thin band of sand that lies between the pebbles at the top of the beach and the mud below. It was nothing like here, of course, the water brown and murky compared with this dazzling blue, but I loved it all the same. We'd take off our sandals and roll up our jeans and jump, feet together, over the tops of the little waves as they rolled in towards us, one after another after another.

I can smile now at the memory. I'm over hating Mum for what she did, and back to missing her all the time. Dad's right, there's no point in blame. We all screw up, all do stuff we're not proud of.

What counts is getting past that. Making the best of what you have. Another thing Eric taught me – however hard my life is, however messy and imperfect, it's a great deal better than his.

I walk along the edge of the sea for a while, then turn round and make my way back to the cafe. The waiter eyes me discreetly as I skirt round to the loos. When I return he's busy talking to a man sitting at the bar with his back to me. I sit down in my seat and drain the last of the Coke, checking my watch. Ten to six.