Girl, Missing Page 3

  Jam’s face went red. ‘Mu-um,’ he muttered.

  Carla winked at me.

  ‘Just so you know,’ she said, ‘I have a new client at seven-thirty, for which I will need Absolute Quiet.’

  She padded inside again.

  Jam flopped back onto the grass. ‘Could she be more embarrassing? Last week I caught her telling that new games teacher how she’d unblocked some woman’s energy through her big toe.’

  I giggled. ‘Sounds painful,’ I said. Then my eyes snapped wide open. ‘Maybe your mum could help me remember my early life? I mean all that stuff she does – rebirthing, reflexology, hypnotherapy – it’s got to—’

  ‘No way.’ Jam stared at me. ‘My mum’s a nut job.’

  ‘Come on, Jam,’ I wheedled. ‘It’s worth a try. She might help me.’

  ‘Help you go insane, you mean.’

  There was no convincing him, so I wandered into the kitchen by myself. Carla was standing at a cupboard, pulling out a baking tray.

  ‘Can I ask you something?’ I said.

  ‘Sure.’ She indicated I should sit down, then placed a bowl full of an oily, orangey sludge in front of me.

  Last time I was here, Carla had made nut cutlets in the shape of parts of the body. We had to guess which they were. ‘A little Biology homework, darlings.’

  I wondered what the sludge in the bowl was.

  ‘Homemade hummus,’ Carla announced, handing me a wooden spoon. ‘Go on, stir,’ she said.

  I picked up the spoon and looked at her, hesitantly.

  ‘So you’ve been thinking about your birth parents?’ Carla said, sitting down beside me.

  My jaw dropped. ‘Did Jam say something . . . ?’

  ‘Oh for goodness’ sake.’ Carla shook her head so hard all her frizzy curls trembled. ‘He’s a man. Strong and silent, God love him. No. It was Mrs Worrybags.’

  For a second I had no idea who she meant. Then my eyes widened.

  ‘My mum told you?’ I said, incredulously.

  ‘Not exactly.’ Carla shook her bangles down her arm. ‘But I use my intuition for a living. I can see the signs.’

  I picked up the wooden spoon and stirred the slimy, orange hummus. ‘What signs?’

  Carla waved her hand vaguely. ‘Oh, darling. The point is, how can I help?’

  I could feel my face reddening. I loved the way Carla treated kids like adults – but the truth was, I was just a teensy bit scared of her. She was so different from my mum.

  I took a deep breath. Then it all tumbled out in a rush: ‘I was wondering if you could hypnotise me and I could find out about my real mother, my real family. About before I was adopted.’

  Carla arched her eyebrows. ‘And what d’you think Mrs Worrybags would say to that?’

  I blushed.

  Carla stared at me. She seemed torn, unsure what to do. ‘I suppose I could put you in a state of deep relaxation,’ she mused. ‘It couldn’t hurt.’

  I stared back at her, now torn myself. What had seemed like the obvious thing to do, in the glare of the afternoon sunshine, now felt a bit silly. Scary, even.

  I opened my mouth to say perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea, but Carla jumped up impulsively. ‘Oh, come on then. If we’re going to do it, let’s do it now.’

  My heart leaped into my throat. ‘No,’ I squeaked. ‘Not right now. Not yet.’

  Carla tossed back her hair. ‘Better now than when you’ve had a chance to create internal blockages. Come on.’

  She strode out of the kitchen. I had no choice but to follow.

  6

  The memory

  I realised I was in deep trouble when Carla started introducing me to her candles.

  ‘This is Evie, this is Elsie and this is Tom,’ she said, pointing to three stout wax balls, ranged in saucers across a low shelf. ‘At least this is the home of their spirit-flame. They are drawn to the fire, here in my Room of Utter Peace. Let their spirits enfold you, take you into another space and time.’

  Carla’s Room of Utter Peace – or Room of Utter Piss, as Jam liked to call it – was at the top of the house, a converted attic. There was one tiny window and the walls sloped down to the floor on both sides, giving the room a cosy, shadowy feel.

  The downstairs noises – TV and Jam’s sisters arguing – fell away as Carla shut the door. She indicated I should sit on one of the low, purple-cushioned chairs in the corner.

  ‘Don’t look so nervous,’ she smiled. ‘I’m not going to brainwash you.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ I said. I was totally regretting having said anything to her. What was I thinking? I didn’t want anyone poking about inside my brain, seeing all my secret thoughts – especially not Jam’s weirdo mum.

  ‘I told you. I’m going to put you in a state of deep relaxation where you’ll be able to remember things that are buried far down in your psyche.’

  ‘Will I know what you’re doing?’ I asked.

  ‘Of course. I’m just helping you relax. You’re in control the whole time.’

  I sat back in one of the chairs. Carla began by getting me to imagine I was lying on my back in an empty field.

  ‘Feel the touch of the grass under your hands; smell the sweet, fresh air . . .’

  Sounds weird, I know. But actually it was kind of fun. After a while, I found myself really getting into it.

  Carla cleared her throat. Her bangles jangled like wind chimes. ‘I’m going to count backwards from ten,’ she said in this low, soothing voice. ‘With each number you’re going to let go, feel your body sink into a deep sleep. But your higher consciousness will stay awake and alert. Ten. Nine. Eight . . .’

  With each number my body sank lower and lower into the chair. I felt deliciously soft and relaxed.

  ‘. . . Three. Two. One.’

  My whole body sank down, deep against the chair. It was the strangest feeling. My body was asleep. But I was, like, totally awake.

  ‘Good, good,’ Carla’s voice was a soft drone. ‘Now you are three years old. What do you see?’

  At first I didn’t see anything. I tried imagining being three. Teddy bears. Ball pits. Playing with dolls. Nothing.

  Jeez. This was a total waste of time.

  I stopped trying and just let myself be heavy in the chair.

  Then, without warning, an image popped into my head. I was little. Very little. I had a red plastic bucket in my hand. The ground was yellow. It moved under my feet.

  ‘Where are you now?’ Carla said.

  In my memory I wriggled my toes. Sand. I was on a beach. The sun shone. The sea roared behind me. I waved at a woman further up the beach. The sun glinted on her hair, on her white dress. She looked like an angel. But she was real. She waved at me. She laughed. Then she turned away and ran towards some rocks. Her long black hair streamed down her back. I dropped the bucket. I had to follow her. Find her. See her face.

  ‘Lauren, Lauren.’ As Carla’s voice brought me back to the present, the woman in my memory vanished. A sense of terrible, swamping loss flooded through me.

  ‘I’m going to count up to ten,’ Carla said. ‘With each number your body will awaken. By the time I reach ten you will be fully awake.

  ‘. . . Eight, Nine, Ten.’

  I opened my eyes. I was back in the Room of Utter Peace. Evie, Elsie and Tom were winking at me from their shelf.

  There was a crushing weight on my heart.

  Carla smiled encouragingly. ‘How do you feel?’ she asked.

  Empty. Sad. Alone.

  ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Nothing happened though.’

  Carla fluffed out her hair. ‘Never mind, darling. We can always try again another time.’

  I curled the memory up in my hands. I was Martha. And the dark-haired woman on the beach was my real mother. I had no proof. But in my heart I was sure.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Before, I’d wanted to know about my past. Now I totally needed to know.

  I lay awake most of that night, trying t
o decide what to do. It all came down to the Marchfield Agency. I checked on the net – it was still in Vermont. Taylor Tarsen was still director.

  I knew my adoption file would be stored there. Surely that would contain clues about what really happened?

  Yes. That file was my starting point. And if the agency wouldn’t show it to me, I was just going to have to go to Marchfield and steal a look at it for myself.

  Whatever it took.

  7

  Holiday

  Rory was in the living room, whirling about with a toy sword. His current obsession is Legends of the Lost Empire. Not just the film, which he’s dragged Dad to three times, but the book (on audio CD, natch) and the PC game. We even have to have this revolting cereal so he can collect all the Legends of the Lost Empire plastic characters.

  ‘Show me your moves, Rory,’ I said.

  Rory’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why?’

  ‘Go on,’ I smiled. ‘I want to see. Who are you being now? Is that the troll?’

  Rory shot me a look of utter contempt. ‘Trolls don’t carry swords. This is Largarond, the elf king of Sarsaring.’ He raised the sword above his head. ‘This is him in killer mode.’

  ‘Fantastic,’ I enthused. ‘You look way cool doing all that.’

  Rory said nothing. But as he did the move again, a smile curled across his mouth.

  I sat and watched for another minute or so. I felt a pang of guilt for what I was about to do. But then I reminded myself how Rory had deliberately turned down the volume on my phone the other day.

  He deserved what he got.

  I moved in for the kill.

  ‘There’s an awesome Legends of the Lost Empire ride just opened at the Fantasma theme park,’ I said.

  Rory stopped his sword in mid-swing. ‘What’s it like?’ he said.

  ‘Wicked.’ I knew the ride existed but I was a bit hazy on the exact details. I thought fast. ‘There’s this big, dark forest and you go through it really fast, spinning round. And . . . and if you’re sitting up at the front you get to fight all the main characters.’

  Rory frowned. ‘But the main characters should all be fighting the troll army and the goblin hordes of Nanadrig.’

  ‘They do,’ I said quickly. ‘I meant you’re with all the main characters, fighting the baddies. Jam told me about it. He says its awesome.’

  Though I say it myself, that last bit was massively clever of me. Rory adores Jam. And anything Jam thinks is cool, Rory wants to do too.

  ‘I want to go on the ride,’ Rory said, lunging forward with his sword.

  ‘Well, you’ll have to ask Mum,’ I said, trying to hide a smile. ‘The Fantasma theme park’s in America.’

  It was in New Hampshire to be exact, near the capital, Concord. I’d spent the whole of the previous evening looking for a holiday destination which was as close to Vermont as possible. Fantasma was perfect – a newish theme park specialising in indoor rides connected to fantasy stories. Lots of fairy-tale type stuff, plus a brand new ride celebrating the massive success of the Legends of the Lost Empire film, book and revolting-cereal franchise.

  Once I’d sorted Rory, Mum was the next step. I reminded her casually how she’d been saying for months that we should take a family holiday.

  ‘I know, but we’re planning on buying a new car this year,’ Mum said. ‘We can’t afford that and a holiday.’

  ‘But a holiday where we can all be together’s more important,’ I said. ‘Who cares if our car’s a bit old?’

  Mum raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, you did the last time I came to pick you up from a party in it. You said it was so old it was embarrassing. Which you also said made it remind you of me.’

  ‘I’m sorry I said that,’ I muttered. ‘I was being stupid. It’s just, well, there won’t be that many more family holidays will there? I mean, soon I’ll just be too old. Don’t you want to make the most of it while I still really want us all to be together?’

  She looked up at me. And I knew I had her.

  The rest was easy. What with Rory going on and on about the Legends of the Lost Empire ride, and me quoting whole passages out of the New Hampshire tourism website about the extraordinary and sublime beauty of the area’s autumnal landscape, Mum quickly came to believe that a trip to the north-east coast of America was the ideal half-term break.

  ‘It’s still going to be expensive,’ she said grimly.

  I was ready for this. ‘Doesn’t need to be,’ I said. ‘I’ve checked. They’re doing special offers at the theme park. And Jam and I were looking into cheap flights on the internet last night.’

  Mum nodded, thoughtfully.

  ‘You know, Dave, we could all do with a holiday,’ she said to my dad that evening. ‘It’s been two years since we went anywhere as a family.’

  Dad mumbled a bit about his holiday allowance at work. But I could see that if Mum wanted to go, he wasn’t going to put up much of a fight.

  I showed them the travel research Jam and I had done. ‘We’ll have to wait a couple of hours to change planes in Boston,’ I said. ‘But the flights are really cheap.’

  It had taken us ages to work out all the connecting flights. Boston was the closest big place to Vermont that I could see on the map. While Mum and the others were waiting for their flights up to New Hampshire, I could get a flight from Boston to Burlington in Vermont, and then a bus to Marchfield.

  All I needed was money.

  For the next few days I worked my butt off, running errands for our neighbours and doing all the food shopping for Mum. We were due to fly out early on the Friday morning that half-term started – missing one whole day of school. Jam came round to see me on the Tuesday evening before. I was in my bedroom, sorting out the backpack I was going to take with me to Marchfield.

  I knew something was up as soon as Jam appeared in the doorway. His face was red and he was, very selfconsciously, holding something behind his back.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I said.

  Jam held out his hand. There, in the palm, were two crisp hundred-dollar bills.

  ‘Where d’you get that?’

  Jam shrugged. ‘Paper round, birthday – plus my nan sent me a bit. And I was saving up for a computer.’

  I bit my lip. I knew how much Jam wanted a computer of his own. He hated having to share the family PC with all his sisters.

  ‘You are such a friend, Jam,’ I said. ‘I’ll pay you back, I promise.’

  He smiled. ‘Maybe, when you get back—’

  Then Mum started shouting downstairs.

  I ran out of my bedroom.

  ‘You can’t do this, Dave,’ Mum yelled.

  I’d worked out what was wrong before my feet hit the bottom step: Dad was saying he was too busy at work to go on the holiday.

  Sure enough, as I raced into the kitchen I caught the words: ‘But it’s the biggest client the firm’s ever had.’

  Mum and Dad both looked at me.

  Mum wiped her hands furiously on a tea towel. ‘You tell her,’ she spat.

  Dad hung his head. He mumbled something about work pressure and a big new contract, but I wasn’t listening. I had worked so hard to be ready for this trip. And now here was Dad telling us he couldn’t go.

  Mum was watching me, twisting the tea towel round her hand.

  When Dad finished speaking I turned to her. ‘But you, me and Rory can still go, can’t we?’ I said.

  Mum’s jaw tightened. ‘If Dad can’t come, then it won’t be a proper family holiday.’ She glared at him. ‘So no, we can’t go.’

  ‘But . . . but we’ll lose all the money if we cancel now.’ I couldn’t believe it. Simply could not believe that all my plans were falling apart.

  Mum pursed her lips.

  ‘This is so totally unfair.’ I stormed out of the room. The shouting started again before I got back up to my bedroom. I slammed the door shut and sank onto my bed. Jam was still there, looking out of the window.

  The rucksack I had already packed stood in th
e corner. I could see the edge of my pink purse sticking out the front pocket. I thought of all the money I’d saved up and about Jam, giving me his savings too. Tears welled up in my eyes.

  Jam turned round. I didn’t need to ask if he had heard what had happened. They’d probably heard three streets away.

  ‘Maybe you could persuade your mum to let someone else take your dad’s place,’ he said, ‘so the money wouldn’t be wasted.’

  I stared at him. It seemed like a long shot, but it was worth a try. ‘Who though?’ I frowned. Who would Mum be prepared to take instead of Dad? A brother or sister, perhaps? Except she didn’t have one. Maybe a friend?

  Jam grinned at me, as if he was waiting for me to get a joke. And then it dawned on me. I rushed back downstairs. Dad was disappearing out the front door. ‘Wait,’ I shouted. But he didn’t stop. Mum was standing at the sink, scrubbing hard at an already sparkling pan. She didn’t turn round when I came in.

  ‘Why can’t Jam come instead of Dad?’ I said.

  Mum rubbed her eyes. ‘I don’t think so, Lauren. It’s supposed to be a family holiday. We should reschedule it.’

  ‘We can’t. Like I said before, if we pull out at this point we won’t get any of the money back.’ I paused. ‘Oh, Mum, of course it would’ve been better with Dad, but you know how responsible Jam is. He can help out in all sorts of ways.’

  Mum put down her washing-up brush and turned round to face me. She sighed. ‘I know how much you were looking forward to the holiday. And you’re right, Jam is grown-up for his age, though that’s because Carla puts way too much on his shoulders.’ She paused. ‘But it’s probably too late to change the tickets. Anyway, Jam may not want to come.’

  ‘It isn’t and he does.’ Every muscle in my body was tensed, ready to swat her arguments away like flies.

  Mum sighed. ‘OK, OK, but . . .’ Her face hardened. ‘What about the sleeping arrangements?’ she said, her cheekbones pinking. ‘I mean you’re fourteen. Jam’s just had his fifteenth birthday. I don’t want . . . I mean I won’t have you . . .’

  I looked at the floor, heat flushing my throat and face. ‘Mum,’ I said hoarsely. ‘It’s not like that. Jam and I are just friends.’