by Linda Huber
Yay! Mum was coming home. ‘I’ll wait until you’re back to open them. Are you at the hospital? Can I speak to Grandma?’
Chatting to Grandma was amazing. You’d never think she’d just had an operation. Kelly tucked the warm, fuzzy feeling into her heart – if it weren’t for the biology exam tomorrow, she’d almost be having a good birthday after all. She ended the call, and her happiness was abruptly tarnished – Beth’s reply to her message had come in. Piano lesson tonight – let’s go another time. Saturday? Kelly sent a thumbs up and leaned back. Hopefully, Amy’d be able to come.
Dad’s face went red when she told him. ‘Going out the night before your biology GCSE? I don’t think so.’
‘It’s my birthday. And I won’t be late.’ Kelly pushed her half-eaten plate of salad to the side.
‘Out of the question. When will you realise you have to work to succeed in life?’
‘I do work. I’m allowed a couple of hours off on my birthday, aren’t I?
For a moment he was silent, then he pushed his chair back and towered above her, leaning forward, his nose inches from hers. Kelly shrank back.
Spit flew as he hissed at her. ‘You have no idea about life. And until you do, I’m the one telling you what’s what. If you’ve finished with that salad you can go to your room and do some work.’
Kelly ran upstairs, saying nothing more. She was going, no matter what. Amy hadn’t messaged back yet, which wasn’t a hopeful sign, but this was as much about showing Dad he couldn’t boss her around as going out with her friends.
Kelly hovered on the landing while her father watched the early evening news on telly then went down to his never-ending cellar renovation. The coast was clear. Full make-up on and wearing her Ariana Grande sweatshirt, Kelly crept down, listening for sounds to confirm Dad was in the workshop. Yes, there was the long metal drawer clanking shut. He’d be at the fags now, and she was nicely in time for the quarter to seven bus. She’d be a few minutes late at the café, but who cared? The bus appeared in the distance, and Kelly ran down Coast Road. This was more like it, going out on the town – ha ha – on her birthday. She went to sit at the back of the bus, and rummaged in her bag for her mobile to see if Amy had texted. Empty space in the phone compartment met her fingers. Shit! She’d left it charging. Still, it wouldn’t matter. Amy would either be there or she wouldn’t. It was a lovely summer evening and there’d be loads of people about.
Reality rolled over her in a big black wave. There’d be other people, sure, but… she wouldn’t know any of them. What was she supposed to do if Amy didn’t turn up? Go for a walk on the effing beach? Kelly stared out of the window, her gut churning ever harder. This was horrible, actually.
The bus pulled up at the station, and Kelly hurried to the café, disappointment thudding into her when she opened the door. Amy wasn’t there. She stepped back and hung around outside for a while – she couldn’t go in and sit alone, that would look nothing but sad, and there was a group of older boys from school in there as well as a shedload of primary school kids with their mums. Kelly gave up, and walked along the beach for a while, tears trickling down her face, but if anyone noticed, nobody came to ask what was wrong. And in spite of the sunshine the wind coming in off the sea was cutting right through her sweatshirt; time to go home, Kelly. She blotted her face with a tissue – talk about crappy birthdays, but at least she had the weekend to look forward to. She’d shown Dad he couldn’t boss her around, too, and come to think of it, she had the twenty pounds from Mum in her purse. She would go the long way back to the bus stop and find something to buy.
The old town was a warren of narrow streets and Kelly was soon looking at shops and galleries she’d never noticed before. She went into one to look at a display of shell boxes – they were cool, and she had enough money. She took a long time choosing, and accepted her box in a pretty paper carrier. This was better, something that belonged on a birthday. The positive mood lasted as far as the pavement outside the shop. Kelly hunched her shoulders against the wind; the sun was gone and oh, no, a crowd of kids were faffing around outside a pub at the end of the road. Big kids, in fact they weren’t kids at all, they were young men, and she didn’t want to walk past them. Kelly hurried in the opposite direction, only to see another group of kids sprawled over a couple of benches outside the library. Some of them were older boys from school and it wasn’t that she was afraid of them, but they looked different here. Kelly’s mouth went dry. She was all alone and she was hating it, and it was her birthday.
She hurried towards a side street, the bag with the shell box clutched in her arms. How she wished she was home. And home wasn’t here in poxy Cornwall, home was in London with Jess and Abby. She tripped over a loose kerbstone, and one of the boys spotted her and jeered. Kelly ran into the side street. This was the right way to the station, wasn’t it?
Chapter Seventeen
The Boy, aged fourteen
Eddie stood at the front door as his mother drove away towards the main road and a weekend in Bristol with a couple of ‘girlfriends’. Resentment was making his blood boil – it wasn’t fair; she could get away. She’d work for a few weeks – there were plenty of short-term jobs in hotels and restaurants around, especially in the summer – and then she’d be off again. She’d given up on him – and Dad. Not that Eddie blamed her; if anything, he wondered why she hadn’t gone for good. Probably too scared, so she got round it by going off as often as she possibly could – which left him to cope with Dad’s temper all alone. Every time he tried to tell her how much he hated the gym – hated his whole life, actually, Mum said, ‘Stand up to Dad, then he’ll respect you,’ and ‘It’s better for you when I’m not here. He thinks I spoil you.’ She knew damn well Dad wasn’t the kind of person you could stand up to. But at least he was on a late shift at the pub tonight.
Back in the kitchen, Eddie kicked a chair to the side before grabbing a can of coke from the fridge. Cool liquid fizzed down his throat. He’d better eat something before he set off for the gym. He wouldn’t have time for all his homework tonight, but then it was ‘only’ English and geography. Not man’s stuff.
Upstairs, he chucked his kit into the sports bag Dad had given him last birthday. At least his father couldn’t complain about his lack of muscle now. Eddie flexed his arms, admiring the contours of his muscles. He wasn’t tall, but he had biceps. And triceps. And quads, and he was quick. Boxing had changed him – and how he hated it. Every single minute. The vile smells, the sweat, the other kids and their lack of mercy. They were as bad as Dad; they all knew he hated being forced to punch, dip, hammer the punchbag. He never joined in with their awful, lewd comments in the locker room either, so they teased him about that, too. ‘Our Pansy’ was his nickname at the gym.
He was zipping up his sports bag when the idea struck, and the evening brightened immediately. He wouldn’t go. No one was here to make him – when Mum was away, Dad normally made a point of being at home on gym nights, but today there was a wake at the pub and he’d be behind the bar until late. He was fourteen, he could decide what he did with his spare time, couldn’t he? He would go to the beach. A quick jog would tick the fitness box, then he’d have a wander around the rock pools. Sod off, Dad. You’ll never know.
A couple of hours on his beloved beach made him feel whole, unlike the hour at gym. He went home at nine, showered, did his homework for tomorrow, and went to bed, carefully feigning sleep when he heard his father return.
The following day was Friday, and Eddie basked all day in the feeling of finally being his own person. Amazing how different an evening not spent in a sweaty gym could make you feel, and he wasn’t going to think about next week yet. It would come soon enough.
Retribution came that afternoon when his father returned home from work. The car door slammed with unusual force, and Eddie rose from the sofa, his heart pounding. Swift steps thundered into the house.
‘You sneaky little–’
Dad didn’t stop on his way a
cross the living room. He grabbed Eddie by the back of the neck, fingernails biting cruelly into the meagre flesh there.
‘Think I wouldn’t find out? Wrong, boy, Stu comes into the pub every lunchtime. Skiver you are – that’s good money wasted. Get a move on.’
He was propelled up the stairs, powerless to fight back because his gut was churning and his legs were unable to stop the forward motion. He landed on the floor of his room and lay winded. It was always the same punishment with Dad. Locked in. And oh no, today was Friday. When would he be allowed out this time?
Sunday morning was the answer, and by that time the room stank. The stench of his own shit in the waste paper bin combined with stale sweat on his body had Eddie coughing as soon as he awoke, bleak despair filling his gut as nausea cramped though him. Apart from a Mars bar he’d found in the desk, he’d had nothing to eat since Friday, and only the water he’d had in his sports bag to drink.
The door opened. ‘Get this dump sorted, boy, then get your lazy arse downstairs. This is where you man up, and big time.’
Eddie complied, hating himself for being so spineless. But his father was stronger in more than muscle mass and size.
In the kitchen, he was allowed a plate of muesli, a banana and a glass of milk, and left to eat alone. He was almost finished when Dad came back and sat watching, shaking his head and blowing cigarette smoke across the table into his face. Eddie ducked his gaze, pretending not to notice. Melanie would have said something, why couldn’t he? But it was all he could do to swallow the last few bites of his banana.
His father stood up. ‘Right. That’ll give you some energy. Now come and see what I have for you in the cellar.’
A hand on the back of his neck again, but this time there was no rage; Dad was chuckling away. What the shit was down in the cellar? There’d been a lot of hammering and drilling since Friday. Eddie worked his mouth to create some saliva as he stumbled down the narrow stairs. He didn’t want to sound croaky; that always made Dad laugh.
The cellar wasn’t a part of the house he went to often. There were three rooms here; one had been a pantry or storeroom in the old days, another was kitted up as a workshop. The third was a general junk room, and this was where they were going.
A shove, and he was standing inside the doorway. The room was unrecognisable, some of the boxes and stuff had been piled at the side of a new cupboard arrangement at the door, and the rest was gone. Eddie stood shaking, staring at the red leather punchbag hanging from the ceiling.
A hand slid through his hair and clutched, and Eddie closed his eyes as the voice whispered in his ear.
‘You think you’re so clever, don’t you? News, boy, you’re not. When my dad came back from the war he wasn’t much older than you and he was tough, boy, and he made me a man too. It’s all in the head, you know. And in your head you’re an idiot.’ The hand in his hair yanked cruelly, then let go. ‘This is where it starts, boy. Get wrapped and gloved, and I’ll hold the bag for you.’
An hour later Eddie lay on the floor, every muscle in his body aching. The gym had never been this intense. Dry shudders shook through him.
His father pushed him with one foot. ‘Every day from now on, boy, sixty minutes or more. You’ll learn discipline and you’ll learn to do as you’re told. Now scram, and stay out of my sight.’
He dragged himself to his feet and staggered up the stairs.
Chapter Eighteen
Friday, 26th June
Nicola rolled up the rug her parents had on the wooden hallway floor. Mum would need flat surfaces and no clutter while she was still on crutches and liable to wobble. Her phone rang – it was a St Ives number, but not one she knew.
A woman’s voice spoke. ‘Mrs Seaton, this is Deb Shipton, Kelly’s biology teacher. She hasn’t turned up for her exam. Is anything wrong?’
Nicola grabbed the stair post, her heart thudding. ‘Oh no. I’m in Yorkshire, my mother had an accident… My husband’s at home.’
‘I’m sorry you’re having problems. I’ll call Mr Seaton.’
The connection broke. Helplessness and despair turned her legs to rubber, and Nicola sank down on the stairs. What was going on? Surely Kelly or Ed would have let her know, if Kelly was ill? She called Kelly’s mobile but it remained unanswered, so she called Ed’s.
‘Ed, what’s going on?’
‘I don’t know, do I? I was late getting up, and she had already gone – I assumed she’d gone in early.’
‘I tried calling her–’
‘Her phone’s here, but I can’t get into it. Do you know what her swipe pattern is?’
‘No. Oh no, Ed. What are we going to do?’
‘I’ll call the hospitals. The connection broke.
Nicola gripped her phone, her breath hitching as she forced back crippling dread. Had Kelly had an accident on the way to school? Oh, Kelly love, be okay. Be as stroppy as you like, but be safe. She looked up flights to Newquay but there were none today, then went into the railway timetable. It was nine bloody hours on the train from Harrogate to St Ives. She would have to hire a car, and even then it would take her seven hours.
Her mobile rang, and she grabbed it.
‘Nothing at the hospital. She must have gone to a friend’s, or decided to bunk off the exam. I’ll drive around and see if I can find her, and I’ll go to the school and see if they can suggest anything.’
At least there hadn’t been a horrible accident. ‘I’ll hire a car and drive down. I’ll be there by late afternoon.’
‘You’re overreacting. Wait until we know more. If she’s having a stroppy fit, you’ll have upset your parents for nothing.’
‘I’m hiring a car right now, Ed. I’ll text when I’m setting off.’
Nicola rang off and sat trying to get a hold on her panic. Think logically, woman. No traffic accidents meant that worst case, Kelly had decided to skive off instead of risking flunking the exam. Would she go to a friend? To Amy, or Beth? Nicola knew who the girls were, but the friendships were so recent – she didn’t know where they lived and she couldn’t remember their surnames. But they were where the search for Kelly should start. The school would help Ed with that, if Kelly didn’t appear.
Upstairs, she piled things into her suitcase, cold reality making her brain sharp. If Kelly was skiving, she would hardly go to a schoolfriend’s. Where else could she have gone?
The answer sent Nicola’s heart straight to her boots. London. Jess. The Rock Home crowds would be gathering today… She crouched to the floor by her bed, pushing both hands through her hair. No, no. Please let her daughter be stuck in a traffic jam on the way to school.
She zipped the case shut and carried it down to the front hall. Her father was in the kitchen, making toast. Nicola explained, trying to make it sound as if Kelly was simply in a meltdown over her biology exam. He had enough to deal with here already.
‘Take our car,’ he said immediately. ‘I’ll manage fine without it.’
Relief swept through Nicola. Dad was a nervous driver, and if the car was with her, she wouldn’t have to worry about him wrecking it and breaking a leg too. And it would be weeks before Mum could drive again.
She forced down a cup of tea and a piece of toast, frail hope plummeting when Ed’s text came: Nothing at school. Nicola texted On my way and set off, heading for the motorway with a huge lump in her throat and a brick of worry in her stomach.
The Land Rover was in the driveway at home, and Nicola pulled up behind it. She stumbled as she ran to the house; apart from a brief break near Cheltenham, she’d driven non-stop and made it in six hours and five minutes, and please, please, let Kelly be back now.
Ed greeted her at the door. ‘Nothing yet,’ he said and she hugged him tightly, trying to draw comfort from their shared panic. He smelled of sweat and coffee.
‘Have you found a note or anything?’ She started upstairs to Kelly’s room, and Ed followed.
Kelly’s bedroom was in its usual messy, highly-perfumed state. Nicola
stood in the doorway taking it all in. There was nothing to suggest that her daughter had left home in a strop. Kelly’s phone was still attached to the charger. Nicola grabbed it and tapped, and the field for a swipe pattern appeared. She held the phone up to the light, slanting it this way and that and – yes! A greasy fingertip pattern was visible. She swiped, and the phone opened.
Nicola sank down on the bed, ignoring Ed fidgeting in the doorway. For half a second she hesitated – this was such an invasion of privacy. Well – tough. Actions have consequences, and in this situation it was entirely reasonable to look in her child’s phone. She opened Kelly’s email inbox, her heart sinking. A couple of newsletters, ads about concerts; nothing important there. Nicola scanned through a couple of older emails from Jess, then opened the Sent folder, finding a newer mail to Jess, dated last week, in which Kelly raved about the coming Rock Home weekend, complained bitterly about life in St Ives, about school, about the remoteness of the house and the lack of entertainment… Nicola’s cheeks burned. Kelly was still desperate to return to the city.
She tapped into the social media sites on the phone, but there was nothing to make her think Kelly was planning to go off like this. Most of Kelly’s posts were images of London. Heck. Messenger – Happy B, see you Friday! from Jess was answered with smilies, and – oh God. Meet you at the café at P. beach 7pm? Shakes on me! was followed minutes later by Piano lesson tonight – let’s go another time from Beth and at half past seven by Sorry, Mum wouldn’t let me xxx from Amy. Oh, Kelly.
Nicola glanced at Ed. ‘What did the police say?’
‘I haven’t contacted them yet.’
‘What? Our daughter’s been gone all this time, and you-’ Fury and disbelief flooded over her, and she fumbled in her pocket for her own phone.
Ed flung his hands in the air. ‘For God’s sake, Nic, think. She’s gone to London, where else? That bloody concert. If she got on the train this morning, she’ll barely have arrived. She’ll be hunkered down outside her old school waiting for Jess to come out. Wait half an hour, then call Jess.’
