Girl, Missing Page 9
I spun round. Jam was staring at my hot-pink trainers. He looked up. ‘You can’t do this, Lazerbrain. It’s too dangerous.’
‘My decision.’ I folded my arms and walked outside.
Damn, it was cold.
‘Why are you mad at me?’ Jam said.
‘I’m not,’ I said, walking more quickly.
‘Then why are you shutting me out like this? And what’s with all that poncey “I’ll pay you back when I can” crap? I thought we were friends?’
‘Really? I thought you were Glane’s friend now.’ I winced, even as the words were blurting their way out of my mouth. I knew I sounded childish and stupid.
Jam grabbed my arm to stop me walking any further. He pulled me round to face him. ‘Are you jealous?’ he grinned.
‘Course not.’ I glared at him. ‘It’s just that I know you think I’m obsessed and selfish. I was kind of assuming you wouldn’t want to help me any more.’
We were at the very edge of the Lodge’s grounds. The lights that marked the start of the highway twinkled up ahead. The place where Jam was holding my arm was the only warm spot on my whole body.
‘I do think you’re obsessed,’ he said, slowly. ‘But you’re still my friend.’
I stood there, trying not to shiver in the biting night air. I felt a stab of guilt. It was mean of me to just walk off when he’d been so brilliant.
Jam let go of me, then took his PSP out of his pocket and rubbed his thumb over the notches in the back.
I hesitated. After all we’d been through, I didn’t want to say goodbye to him like this.
‘Was your mum angry when you spoke to her?’ I said.
‘You could say.’ Jam rolled his eyes. ‘Apparently she told your parents about that stupid hypnotherapy session you had and now they’re furious with her for encouraging you. So now she’s mad at them. And mad at me for running off. She’s out here, you know. Same hotel as your parents. And she’s angry about that too, having to leave my sisters with friends.’
‘What about your dad?’
‘No, he’s too busy with his new family.’ Jam’s face set hard, like a mask. ‘Apparently he was going to come over if I didn’t turn up after another week or two.’
I frowned. Mum had said my dad had flown to America as soon as I went missing – and I knew how busy he was.
‘Another week or two?’
Jam pointed to the six grooves on the back of his PSP. ‘D’you remember you asked me about these?’ His voice was low, trembling slightly. ‘Back when we got in the car with Suzanna or Sonia or whatever her name was?’
I nodded.
‘My dad gave me this PSP when I was twelve. I haven’t seen him since. I’ve scratched one mark on it for every time I’ve spoken to him since then. Every time he’s promised to see me and hasn’t.’
I stared at him. Glane was right. I didn’t see the things that were under my nose. ‘I’m sorry,’ I stammered. ‘I had no—’
‘Don’t feel sorry,’ Jam snapped. ‘I don’t care about my dad.’
There was an awkward pause.
‘Look,’ I said. ‘It’s not that I want to go off on my own. But I know you think it’s a crap idea . . .’
‘I never said that.’ Jam sighed. ‘It’s just, why do all this by yourself? The police are going to investigate everything. After what Sonia Holtwood did, they’ll have to take the whole idea of you being a missing child seriously. Don’t you see? It’s all going to come out now, whatever anybody does?’
He was right. And that was exactly the problem.
I looked along to the highway. It was cold. And I knew it was risky to even think about hitch-hiking all the way to Evanport. But I couldn’t bear the thought of other people finding my real mum. Other people telling my real family about me. All the officials getting in the way.
I shrugged. ‘I just have to do it, Jam.’
‘OK.’ To my surprise a slow grin spread across his face. ‘Then come back inside for a minute,’ he said. ‘I’ve sorted a much better way for us to get there than hitch-hiking.’
20
Evanport
I lived through so many emotions in the next twenty-four hours, that it’s hard to remember how grateful and relieved I was when Jam took me back into the dining room, explaining what he’d arranged. ‘I got Glane to agree that if I couldn’t talk you out of going, he’d take us to Evanport himself.’
Glane was still at the table. He looked up at me solemnly. ‘I cannot let you hitch your ride, Lauren. But I will only help you on condition you tell your parents what you’re doing and we call the police as soon as you find this birth family of yours.’
I flung my arms round him. How could I ever have thought Glane was a weirdo? ‘Thank you,’ I breathed. ‘Thank you for everything.’
‘Oh well,’ Glane said gruffly. ‘Evanport is not so far out of my way to Boston.’
We set off as soon as we’d finished eating. I was anxious to get going now, full of butterflies in my stomach about Mum and Dad arriving and somehow stopping us.
We called them from Glane’s hired truck. There was more shouting and tears from Mum. They were just about to leave Boston to come and find us.
I told her she and Dad and Carla should stay put until we called the next day, then hung up and switched off the phone. I didn’t even bother to try and explain what I was doing.
Mum and Dad didn’t deserve an explanation.
We stopped at a motel for a few hours sleep. Well, the others slept – I could hear Glane snoring through the thin walls. I lay awake. The idea that I might actually meet my real mother tomorrow was both exciting and terrifying.
I closed my eyes and tried to remember her face. Her voice. Her gentle smile.
Everything will be all right when I see her.
We arrived at Evanport the next morning, Wednesday, at about 10 am. The main street in the town was crowded with cars and shoppers.
She could be here. She could be one of these people . . .
My heart thumped against my chest.
We passed little clothes shops with wooden porches, and diners with knots of high stools in the windows. The town had a big marina at one end, and lots of the stores in the nearby streets seemed to have something to do with sailing and boats. Many of them had old-fashioned tin signs hung outside: Yachters’ Paradise. Sails at Sea. Tom’s Chandlery.
As the truck rolled slowly down the street I noticed how slim and smart most of the people strolling about were. There were a few younger people, but most of them were middleaged women with styled hair and neatly pressed tops, and men in chinos with jumpers knotted over their shoulders.
I was so nervous now I thought I was going to be sick. My breath was coming in short, sharp gasps.
I checked myself in the rearview mirror. God I looked terrible. Drawn, ash-white face with rough, raw, red patches on the cheeks.
I wanted to tell Glane to stop so that I could buy some make-up. But I would have had to ask him for the money and, anyway, the more scared I got, the less able I felt to say anything at all.
I felt my confidence sink even further as I looked down at the combats and sweatshirt I was wearing.
‘Hey. You OK, Lazerbrain?’ Jam nudged me with his arm. I leaned against him, trying to make myself breathe properly.
‘I wish I looked better,’ I croaked. I wanted it to come out all light and jokey. Instead it sounded as desperate as I felt.
Jam half-turned to me, so he could whisper in my ear. ‘I think you look beautiful.’
I blushed.
‘When this is over,’ he whispered, ‘there’s something I want to ask you.’
With a crunch of the gears, Glane stopped the truck. As he switched off the engine there was this deafening silence. Blood pounded in my ears.
‘We are here,’ Glane said.
I sat glued to my seat as Glane opened the door and got out. He stepped back. Somehow I made my legs move as I followed him onto the pavement, my eyes on the hou
se opposite.
It was big – far bigger than our house at home, with a large, neatly mown front lawn. The trees on either side of the grass were golden-leafed, almost glittering in the bright, hard sunshine.
I stood, my hands shaking, staring at the brick path that led up to the front door.
Jam got out of the truck. He came and stood beside me.
‘Lauren?’
‘I can’t do this,’ I whimpered. I took a step back to the truck. ‘I can’t.’
‘You want to leave?’ Glane said. ‘Shall we call your parents? The police?’
‘No.’ I couldn’t back out now. This was what I wanted, wasn’t it? The chance to find out for myself whether I was Martha Lauren Purditt. To meet my real mother. In my own way.
I was probably wrong anyway. I would get there and it would be obvious the missing girl wasn’t me.
Oh God.
My whole body trembled.
Jam put his hand on my arm. ‘Do you want us to come with you?’ he said.
I shook my head. I didn’t trust myself to speak. But I knew that I had to do this alone. I took a step towards the brick path.
I felt Jam’s fingers twist through mine and slide away. ‘Good luck, Lazerbrain,’ he whispered.
I smiled at him, then turned and walked towards the house.
PART TWO
FINDING LAUREN
21
Inside
A girl opened the door. She was about my height, but maybe a bit younger than me, with long, dyed blonde hair that hung dead straight past her shoulders. I searched her face, desperate for any sign of family resemblance.
She looked at me suspiciously. ‘Can I help you?’
‘I . . . I . . .’ Now I was here, I realised I had absolutely no idea what to say. My legs felt like jelly.
The girl’s eyes narrowed. ‘What do you want?’ she said.
For a second I thought I was going to throw up. It took all my strength just to speak: ‘I’m looking for Mrs Purditt,’ I said. ‘Martha’s mother.’
The girl frowned.
‘It’s Martha I’ve come about,’ I said, wondering for one horrible moment whether I’d even got the right house. ‘She went missing a . . . a long time ago.’
For a second the girl looked shocked. Then the surprise in her eyes morphed into contempt.
‘Who put you up to this?’ she said. ‘Was it Amy Brighthouse?’
I blinked, utterly bewildered.
‘Who is it, Shelby?’ a woman’s voice called from the house.
‘Go away,’ hissed the girl. ‘What you’re doing is sick. It’s so totally uncool I can’t believe it.’
She pushed me backwards along the path, then stepped outside the house, pulling the door to behind her. I stared at her. What was she talking about? The girl shoved me in the chest. Hard. I stumbled backwards again.
Behind her, the front door opened. A middleaged woman with short, flicky black hair appeared in the doorway.
It took me a few seconds to register who she must be.
The woman smiled at me, but her eyes were dull and sad.
I stared at her face. It can’t be you. It can’t be.
‘Hello?’ she said. ‘Are you one of Shelby’s friends?’
‘No, Mom. She’s here on some sicko dare.’
I barely heard them. Tears filled my eyes. The woman in front of me might have been beautiful once, but now there were deep lines carved across her forehead and her skin was sallow and saggy.
This couldn’t be my mother.
My mother didn’t have pain etched across her face.
The woman looked puzzled. ‘Who are you?’
She doesn’t know me. She doesn’t recognise me.
Both of them were frowning at me now. The air crackled with tension.
There was nothing left but to say it. My voice sounded flat and distant, as if someone else was speaking.
‘I think I might be Martha.’
The words hung in the silence between us.
The woman’s eyes widened. Her mouth fell open. ‘Martha?’ she whispered. ‘My Martha?’
‘You total freak show.’ Shelby pushed me again. But I didn’t take my eyes off the woman. She stood back, opening the door wide behind her.
‘Come in,’ she said.
‘No,’ Shelby shrieked. ‘No way. Don’t you see? She’s doing it for a dare.’
Ignoring her, I followed the woman inside. I got a vague impression of an open space with polished wood cabinets and big, flowery sofas off to the left.
I was numb. It didn’t feel real.
‘It’s not her, Mom,’ Shelby shouted, marching up to the woman and shaking her arm. ‘Mom? Oh for God’s sake! I’m going to get Dad.’ She ran out of the house.
The woman led me towards one of the sofas.
‘Sit down.’
I sat. The woman perched on the sofa opposite. It felt like her eyes were drinking me up.
I looked away, confused. It shouldn’t be like this. If this was my real mother, surely I would sense it somehow; feel some . . . some connection to her?
The woman bit her lip. ‘Do you remember me?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. I looked down at my lap.
A long silence stretched out between us. In the end I glanced up. The woman was still staring at me.
‘What makes you think you’re Martha?’
I told her everything that had happened from the day I found the missing poster of Martha on the internet.
As I explained how Sonia had abandoned us in the woods she came and sat next to me. ‘Poor baby,’ she said.
She lifted her hand, as if she was going to stroke my hair off my face. I drew away, embarrassed.
A dull weight seemed to settle in my chest. This wasn’t what I’d expected. I’d thought if I saw her I would know. For sure.
But I didn’t. She was just a woman.
Angry voices sounded by the front door. I stood up.
Shelby ran into the room. A little girl – a bit younger than Rory, I guessed – was beside her. Then three middleaged men strode in – they were all wearing chinos and check shirts, just like the people I’d seen in the Evanport shops. There were too many faces to take in. I looked from one to the other, bewildered.
‘Is that her?’ The tallest of the men stepped over to me. He gripped my shoulder. There was something almost desperate in his eyes. ‘Who are you?’ He shook my arm. ‘What are you doing here?’
The woman put her hand over his. ‘It’s Martha, Sam,’ she breathed. ‘I really think it is.’
At her words pandemonium broke out. Everyone in the room started talking at once. The man began shouting at the woman, completely ignoring me.
‘This isn’t her, Annie. She’s not just going to walk in—’
‘It is. She has.’ Annie burst into tears. ‘Don’t you see, sh—’
‘Stop it.’ The man’s voice rose to a terrible roar. ‘Stop it. Stop it. I can’t take you doing this any more.’
Annie clutched at the man’s arm. ‘Listen to me,’ she sobbed. ‘Calm down, Sam, please.’
I glanced round the room. Shelby and the other men were all talking at the tops of their voices by the door. The only person who wasn’t speaking was the little girl. She stared at me, open-mouthed from behind the sofa.
My heart was hammering like mad. Whatever I’d imagined finding my real family would be like, it wasn’t like this. I didn’t want to be here any more. But my legs felt rooted to the spot.
The argument between the man and Annie grew more hysterical.
She was almost on her knees, pleading with him: ‘Look at her, look at her, she looks just like you.’
The man didn’t seem to hear her: ‘I can’t take this, Annie,’ he kept saying, his face twisted in agony. ‘You have to let go.’
‘Please stop shouting,’ I said. But the words were drowned in the noise around me.
And then a deep voice boomed over all the others. ‘QUIET.’
Shocked silence.
Before anyone had a chance to ask him who he was or what he was doing there, Glane smiled.
‘I think perhaps everyone should be calm and listen to Lauren.’
22
Confession
I was at Evanport police station.
Glane had gone. Jam had gone. All the Purditts had gone.
I’d been talking to an FBI agent for the last two hours.
MJ Johnson was tall with a long, horsey face. I liked her. She’d listened carefully to everything I’d told her and asked lots of questions in a sympathetic drawl.
She’d gone away for a bit, then come back to tell me that Taylor Tarsen had been taken in for questioning and that my description of Sonia Holtwood was being circulated to local law enforcement across the north-east of America.
I knew this was good news. But my mind was still on my meeting with the Purditts. I kept trying to match the sad-eyed Annie Purditt I’d met today, with the angel-faced woman in my dream memory. Were they really the same person?
‘Lauren?’
I looked up. MJ stretched out her long legs. ‘You need to understand,’ she said. ‘There’s two separate issues here. This whole business of you maybe being stolen from your birth family when you were little. That’s one. But then there’s also what Tarsen and Sonia Holtwood planned to do to you and your friend. Those are two separate crimes. Two different, but overlapping investigations.’
‘So what’s going to happen next?’
‘You mean to you?’ MJ stood up.
I nodded.
‘Your parents’ll be here real soon,’ she said vaguely. We’ll take it from there.’
She left me on my own again. I curled up in my chair and laid my head on my arm.
The seconds on the clock in the room ticked by.
I hadn’t told MJ that I was sure Mum and Dad knew about me being kidnapped as a little girl. I could barely think about it myself. I certainly wasn’t ready to see them.
I needed time to think about what had happened with the Purditts. I must have been wrong about them. I must have. Surely, if Annie was really my mother, I would have felt something more when I saw her.