Hide and Secrets Read online

  ‘But—’

  ‘Your dad agonized about his decision, Cat,’ Rik says gently. ‘It was easier for me; I’ve got no family apart from an old auntie who was never going to ask any difficult questions. I just went abroad. But for your dad it was different. If he vanished overnight, there would’ve been a big outcry. Anyway, if the FFG thought he was still alive, they might have used you to get to him. Faking his death – and making the FFG think the Blue Fire diamond drowned with him – was the only way he could protect you. Of course, your dad disappearing also stopped the gangsters searching for me, but you and your mum and sister were the priority.’

  ‘But why didn’t Dad tell us?’ Tears well in my eyes.

  ‘It was for your own good,’ Rik says. ‘It was important the FFG believed he was dead and the diamond they thought he’d stolen was at the bottom of the sea. It destroyed your dad to do all this, but he was adamant it was the only way to keep you safe.’

  ‘Where did he go?’ I ask, voice rasping. ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Rik says. ‘We haven’t had any contact since the day I left the country when I swore to him I’d never tell a living soul he was still alive.’ He hesitates and when he speaks again his voice is low and troubled. ‘I’m only breaking that promise now because I have to.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ My head spins, panic rising. ‘What’s happened?’

  Rik sucks in his breath. I lean towards my screen, intent on what he’s about to say.

  ‘Fran Farmer has found out your dad faked his death seventeen months ago,’ Rik says, his voice low and serious.

  My stomach clenches with fear. ‘How?’ I breathe. ‘How did she find out?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Rik admits. ‘But I got hold of her telephone number before I left the country and every now and then I check in on her messages.’

  ‘You do?’ I stare at him.

  ‘I’m good with IT… that was a big part of my job at Ballena Jewellery.’ Rik shrugs. ‘Anyway, it’s clear from the messages I’ve intercepted: Fran Farmer is certain your dad is still alive and that he ran off with her diamond.’ He looks at me intently. ‘She wants the Blue Fire back. And she wants revenge on your dad. Extreme revenge.’

  ‘You mean she wants to… to kill him?’ My heart pounds.

  ‘Yes.’ Rik’s mouth sets in a thin line.

  I stare at him, too shocked, too upset to speak.

  ‘I’m on the other side of the world,’ he says. ‘Which is most likely the only reason Fran Farmer hasn’t caught up with me. She’s probably trying to track me down right now, in fact, to find out if I know where your dad and the diamond are. If I come back to help your dad, I’ll have a target on my back… I’ll just make things worse for him.’ He sighs. ‘There’s nothing I can do, but you… your dad talked about you a lot, Cat.’

  My heart feels tight in my chest.

  ‘He couldn’t bear the thought that one day they might get to you – that you might find out he’d gone away and not understand why he’d had to leave.’ He gives me a shaky smile. ‘That’s why I have your number. Your dad gave it to me, along with things like your birth date and your school… everything he could think of so that, if the worst happened, I’d be able to find you and tell you the truth… that he didn’t run off with the diamond and that he’s always loved you and your mum and your sister more than his own life.’

  I stare at him, a lump in my throat.

  ‘Your dad gave up everything for you, Cat,’ Rik says softly. ‘And now you’re the only person who can help him.’

  It takes a second for me to realize what he’s just said. ‘Me? How? What can I do?’

  Rik leans into the camera, his eyes bright, his gaze intense. ‘You need to find your dad. Warn him that the FFG are on his trail. That his life is in danger.’

  ‘But—’ I shake my head, overwhelmed by what Rik’s suggesting. ‘What about the police?’

  ‘No!’ Rik’s voice rises. ‘The FFG have spies everywhere. If anyone informs on them to the police, they’ll know.’ His gaze darkens. ‘Right now they’re probably leaving you and your family alone because they don’t want to draw attention to themselves. But if they were to find out the police are investigating them anyway, I reckon they’d come after you, use you to draw out your dad. It’s how they work.’

  ‘But don’t you have friends? People who could help find Dad… who know about—’

  ‘No one who’s prepared to risk their neck for a man they don’t know. And I’m thousands of miles away.’ He grimaces. ‘I’m sorry… if there was anyone else I could ask, I would. I hate to put you in danger, but…’ He makes a face. ‘It’s up to you, Cat.’

  ‘What about my mum?’ I ask. ‘Why not speak to her?’

  Rik shakes his head. ‘Your mum won’t believe anything I say,’ he says. ‘Your dad told her some lies about me so that if the FFG came around, asking her questions… well, it would throw them off the scent.’

  ‘What lies?’ I ask.

  ‘He said we’d fallen out, that I was a con man. But your dad was my best friend, Cat. You have to believe me. I’m telling the truth. I’ve got no reason to lie, I just want to help.’ He suddenly looks exhausted. ‘Look, I’ve told you everything I know. As soon as I hang up I’m destroying this phone. So you won’t be able to call me. But I’ll check in with you when I get my next burner. And I’ll give you whatever help I can. But I daren’t come back to the UK, so it’s up to you. You need to find your dad as fast as you can. Find him and warn him, before it’s too late.’

  ‘But…’ I stammer. ‘But if he’s really alive, he could be anywhere.’

  Rik shakes his head. ‘I’m certain he’s in the UK. Not nearby, but somewhere in Britain. I told him the last time we spoke that he should go abroad, but he said he couldn’t… wouldn’t leave the country where his family lived.’

  The lump in my throat swells painfully.

  ‘All I can tell you is that he’ll be somewhere isolated where he can keep a low profile.’ He pauses. ‘Okay, I’ve stayed on this number too long already. I have to go.’

  ‘No, please.’ Panic surges inside me. ‘I… I can’t do this.’

  ‘Yes, you can. Your dad told me how smart and determined you are. How the two of you were always on the same wavelength.’ Rik gives me a smile of encouragement. ‘Which means if anyone can work out where he’s chosen to hide, it’s you, Cat. You can do this.’

  Before I can respond, the screen goes black. I stare down at the blank space where Rik’s face had been. The sun is still shining, the warm air filtering in through my open window and the branches of the tree just outside rustling in the breeze.

  But everything in my world has changed.

  * * *

  I don’t know how much time passes, but I’m still sitting on my bed, trying to take in what’s just happened, when Mum’s voice trills up from the hall downstairs. ‘A wonderful session! You’re so open, so connected to the planetary influen—’ The dreamy sound of her voice fades. A moment later and the front door shuts. Mum’s footsteps pad across the hall again.

  ‘Bess!’ she barks, her tone suddenly terse and impatient. ‘Mrs Trimble has your lunch ready. Don’t make me call you again!’

  I unfurl myself. Panic rises inside me as I stand up. It’s all very well Rik saying all that stuff about me being smart and determined, but I have no clue how to find Dad. No clue even where to begin. I reach for my phone. Maybe going to the police is too dangerous and telling Mum a waste of time, but I can’t do this by myself. There must be another way.

  I find Rik’s number and press call. My hand trembles as I hold the phone to my ear.

  A long, flat beep sounds. It’s dead. My heart sinks – Rik’s ditched his burner, just like he said he would. And I have no idea how soon, or if, he’ll make contact again.

  I’m on my own.

  5

  I feel sick with fear as I walk over to my bedroom window. Everything Rik said sounded totally conv
incing, yet now I’m off the phone it’s almost impossible to believe any of it is true. I pace across the room, my panic building. Surely Dad can’t be alive?

  And yet… suppose he is?

  I sink on to my bed, my head in my hands. My mind darts and dives, trying to find some kind of certainty. And then, like a splash of cold water, it strikes me: I can’t know for sure. Not at this point. Not without more evidence.

  And this gives me a simple choice: I either decide Rik is lying and ignore his message altogether, or I accept that he might be telling the truth and set out to find and warn Dad.

  I sit up, drawing in a deep breath.

  Even if there’s only a small chance Dad is really still alive, I have to investigate.

  I can’t take the risk of not helping him.

  But if Dad is still alive, where on earth could he be hiding? I run over my memories of the last few days before he disappeared, desperately trying to remember any clue he might have dropped. But I can barely recall talking to him at all, let alone anything specific he said.

  I do remember that last morning. It was a Saturday, a time when Dad would usually get up early and chivvy me and Bess out of the house and into the car, so that we could drive to the shore and sail off for a few hours in his boat, the Marvista. That day was beautiful, the clear blue sky and bright sunshine giving no hint of the storm Dad must have later got caught in. When he appeared in the doorway of my bedroom I was expecting him to give me the usual ten-minute warning to get ready to leave. But he didn’t. Instead he stood there, mumbling something about repairs and needing to test the Marvista at sea on his own. I didn’t take much notice, though I do remember asking:

  ‘So can we go out later, Dad? You, me and Bess?’

  Dad said: ‘If there’s time, Kitterbug.’ Then he paused and gave me a strange, sad look. ‘You know I love you, Cat, you and your sister… more than my life.’ And then he turned and walked away.

  It was the last time I saw him.

  I stand in front of my bedroom window, lost in the memory. That strange look he gave me… I’ve never seen it in this way before, but it seems obvious now that he was saying goodbye. And the words he used, about loving us more than his life. Rik used those exact same words too, as if he’d heard Dad say them.

  I try to focus on what I know. If what Rik says is true, Dad probably didn’t speak to anyone else about his plan to fake his drowning. But maybe, at some point, he wrote down something about where he was going to go, or what he was going to do.

  Yes. Perhaps there’ll be some clue among his old possessions.

  I hurry downstairs. I’m certain there’s a big box of Dad’s things in Mum’s office. She put a lot of his stuff up in the attic but, months after he disappeared, she would still come across random items buried in a pile of papers or languishing down the back of the sofa. I’m certain that Ballena Jewellery, where he worked, sent things too. I remember Mum cursing once: It’s like they’re trying to torment me with these constant reminders.

  As I scurry across the hall and into Mum’s office, I hear her in the kitchen, giving Mrs Trimble instructions on the shopping she wants done. Mrs Trimble comes five days a week, doing a couple of hours of cleaning before making lunch, then babysitting Bess until Mum finishes work for the day. Mum often sees clients in the evenings too – but I’m supposed to look after Bess then.

  The office is hot and stuffy and, as usual, a total mess. Unlike the rest of the house, where every surface is crammed with astrological prints and ornaments, the office is cluttered with books and folders and stationery. Mum keeps client files in two big drawer files that stand on either side of a bookcase, slumping under the weight of the books on its shelves. The big, colourful boxes she uses to store things are stacked on the opposite wall.

  Naturally, nothing is labelled. I sigh. Typical Mum. As I pull out each box in turn to check its contents, the door creaks. My head jerks up. Thankfully, it’s just Bess. She glances momentarily at the array of boxes pulled away from the wall, then shoots me a quick, quizzical look: What are you doing? When I don’t answer, she shrugs, then curls up on the floor by the bookcase. She gets out her pens and hunches over her drawing.

  I pull out another box and take off the lid. It’s full of old flyers and leaflets for the astrology shows and conventions that Mum regularly speaks at. I rummage through the paperwork in case any of Dad’s old things are in here too.

  Maybe it’s having to focus on something – or maybe it’s the sound of Bess’s pens, scratching their way rhythmically across her drawing book, but I start to feel slightly calmer. I just need to focus. Deal with what’s in front of me, one step at a time.

  Like I do when I’m dress-making. It’s the same sequence every time:

  Choose pattern. Select fabric. Pin. Cut. Sew.

  Repeat.

  As I lift the lid off the next box, I sense Bess looking at me again and glance over.

  She offers me a shy smile. I long to tell her that Dad is still alive and out there. But I stop myself. It wouldn’t be fair to get her hopes up. Bess wouldn’t understand. I don’t understand.

  ‘What did you think of the Tuesdays?’ I ask instead.

  She nods enthusiastically, her smile broadening to a beam.

  I grin back, pleased she liked them. ‘Yeah, I thought they seemed okay too.’

  I turn back to the box. My heart leaps. It’s a jumble of Dad’s things: leaflets for the courses on woodwork and photography that he talked about starting but never did; holiday brochures of places he wanted to visit. He was always talking about the future – from careers that would fulfil his creative potential to holiday destinations by the sea. I don’t remember any of the specific things he said, but I can still see his face when he talked – smiley and shiny-eyed with excitement.

  None of that helps me work out where he might be now. I rummage, feeling increasingly desperate, through half-written film reviews – from that time when he fancied becoming a movie critic – to unfinished sketches of me and Bess on his boat.

  Without warning, I come to a printed-out selfie of Dad with me and Bess. It’s from just before he died; I haven’t seen it before, though I remember him taking it. I gaze down at us: Dad with one arm round me and Bess, the other reaching away to take the picture. All three of us are laughing. Bess has our old dog, Pirate, in her arms. She’s hugging him close and his silky brown ears flop over her arms as he leans against her.

  The memory of Bess’s high-pitched, joyful giggle rings in my ears, then passes to silence. I feel suddenly empty, tears pricking at my eyes. It’s been ages since I heard my sister laugh.

  A gentle hand on my arm. Bess has crept over and is looking up at me, her eyes full of enquiring concern. I show her the picture.

  ‘D’you remember this?’ I ask.

  Bess takes the photo in her colour-stained fingers. She shakes her head, then shuffles back a little, still looking at it.

  I wipe my face and turn my attention back to the box. Right at the bottom, there’s a stapled-together print-out of pages with BALLENA JEWELLERY WEBSITE UPDATE – DRAFT TEXT written on the front. And it’s dated the same month Dad disappeared. Maybe there’ll be a clue in this… Something that might indicate where he would go.

  I snatch it out of the box.

  ‘Hey,’ Tyler’s voice from the doorway makes me jump.

  I look up. He’s lolling against the door frame, filling the space with his broad shoulders. His eyes are still fierce, but there’s the hint of a smile on his lips. For a second I stare, transfixed, then shake myself, my irritation rising.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ It comes out much snappier than I mean it to.

  The smile falls from Tyler’s face. He straightens up. ‘I was just looking for Wi-Fi,’ he says. ‘I heard you talking to… to Bess.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say.

  Tyler takes another step inside the room. ‘So could I have the password, please?’

  I grip the stapled pages more tightly. Tyler’s
too close and I need to look through these papers. If Dad is alive, I have to find him.

  It’s overwhelming.

  ‘No,’ I snap. ‘Sorry, but it’s not a good time. I’m busy.’

  Across the room, Bess kicks her foot against the wall, telling me I’m being rude.

  I ignore her.

  Tyler blinks, taken aback. His mouth opens a little, his eyes hardening as they meet mine. ‘Right,’ he says. ‘Bye.’ He turns and stalks off.

  I watch him go, my heart thudding. Bess kicks at the wall again.

  ‘What?’ I glare at her.

  She spreads out her arms and widens her eyes. What is the matter with you? For a second she looks like a miniature version of Mum.

  ‘None of your business,’ I mutter, turning back to the papers.

  I put Tyler out of my head as I flick through the pages. There’re a load of handwritten red pen marks on the one marked HOME PAGE, but it’s mostly a series of captions for different jewellery ranges. I stop on the fifth page, staring at a picture of the little back office I vaguely remember being behind the main shop. Rik and Dad are standing in front of the work bench while the actual jewellers sit, surrounded by their tiny boxes and pots and miniature hammers and chisels. Dad has his hand on Rik’s shoulder and the two of them are grinning at each other. So they are friends, just like Rik said. My heart thuds as I flick over the page. This one is headed DRAFT TEXT FOR ‘OUR STAFF’ SECTION. There’s a grainy photo of Dad looking uncharacteristically serious halfway down the page, with the caption:

  Our Senior Sales Assistant, Alan Mooney, brings 20 years of experience in the retail industry.

  And there, just below Dad, is a picture of Rik. His caption reads:

  At 31, Rik Adamski combines two roles, as Junior Sales Assistant and our youngest ever Head of Digital.

  There’s nothing written in the margins. Nothing here that helps.

  Depressed, I chuck the papers back into the box. As I do, a Post-it flutters off the back page. The date on the note is printed at the top: 18 February. That’s the day before Dad disappeared. The handwritten message beneath reads: