by Mary Hooper
We were almost up to the gate of the old palace, which was set back on cobbled stones with a man in a sentry box at each side. Mum stopped at the crossing just before the turning for the car park, and I leaned forward eagerly, undoing my seat belt in readiness. I couldn’t see anyone gorgeous, but maybe he hadn’t arrived yet. It was difficult to tell because there were so many people milling around.
‘Anyone likely?’ Mum asked, looking in her mirror. She indicated that she was about to turn into the car park.
‘Not really,’ I said, craning to see.
With the indicator blinking, we waited for a gap in the traffic and then began to drive in slowly. Mum glanced across at the people waiting in front of the gate and she suddenly seemed to stiffen slightly. I looked at her and was astonished to see she’d gone bone white.
‘What’s up?’ I asked.
She opened her mouth and shut it again. She carried on driving into the car park and went right past the attendant’s box without stopping to pay.
‘You’re supposed to take a ticket!’ I said, as the man waved at us.
‘I wonder … ’ She made a strange choking noise in her throat. She still looked very pale and almost ill. ‘You know, I don’t think this is such a good idea, Holly.’
‘What?!’
‘I’ve just got a sudden feeling about it – that it wouldn’t be right, somehow. We don’t know who we’re going to meet. It could be very dodgy.’
‘But you’re with me. We’ve got the phone and everything. Look at all the people around. Nothing could happen to us!’
The car-park man arrived next to the car and tapped on the window. ‘Afternoon, madam,’ he said. ‘May I give you a ticket?’
She didn’t wind down the window, didn’t even seem to see him there.
‘I’ve got a bad feeling about it and I always take notice of my bad feelings,’ she said. ‘I don’t think we should have come. You must leave another message saying that you never want him to contact you again.’
I looked at her in astonishment. ‘But why?’ I said. ‘Why come all this way and then change your mind?’
‘I told you. I just got a bad feeling.’ She suddenly seemed to notice the car-park man and wound down her window. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘We won’t be stopping after all.’
‘Please yourself, madam,’ he said.
‘But I want to meet him!’ I said. ‘I want to know what it’s all about.’ I put a hand on the door handle to open it and get out, but she leaned over and grasped it.
‘Please,’ she said. ‘Please. I know I can’t stop you but I really, really don’t want you to go.’ She sounded almost tearful and, stunned, I let my hand drop from the door handle.
‘Just take my word for it. I’ve never let you down before, have I?’
I shook my head wordlessly.
‘So trust me. I’ve got experience of the world. I know more about some things than you do.’
I didn’t say anything, just looked at her. The colour was beginning to come back into her face now, but her eyes were all glassy and shocked. She looked as if she’d seen a ghost or had had some sort of psychic experience.
She hadn’t turned off the car engine, and she just glanced into the rear mirror and moved off. The exit was in a different place from the entrance and we drove across to it in silence. When she came out on to the main road she went right round the block, so that we didn’t pass the old palace gates again, where we’d been supposed to meet him.
‘I want you to ring and say you couldn’t make it and won’t be meeting him after all,’ she said. ‘Will you? Promise?’
‘OK,’ I said, but I crossed my fingers.
I was going to ring all right – but I wasn’t going to say that.
Chapter Six
‘Look, I’m really sorry if you were waiting there all afternoon,’ I blurted out when he’d given his message and the answerphone had cut in. ‘You see, we went along but my mum suddenly changed her mind about meeting you. Went all peculiar.’ As I said this, I felt guilty, as if I was criticising her. ‘Mums are a bit funny like that,’ I added.
The answerphone, of course, gave no reply. Beside me, Ella nodded, encouraging me to go on with the next bit.
‘I could meet you next weekend. Same time, same place,’ I said. ‘And this time I’ll definitely be there. I’m going to bring my friend Ella with me.’
I wasn’t, really, because she was going out with her auntie to a craft fair that day. I thought it was best to pretend this, though, just in case he thought I was coming on my own and started preparing to kidnap me.
‘So, well. Sorry again. Goodbye,’ I finished. I put the phone down and made an oh-my-gawd face at Ella.
‘Your mum will positively kill you,’ she said with satisfaction.
‘She won’t find out,’ I said. ‘I’m not going to say a word about it, and I’m going to tell her I’m going out with you to that craft fair, OK?’
Ella nodded. ‘Suppose he gives you something else? Another present.’
I thought for a moment. ‘If she sees it I’ll pretend I bought it from the craft fair.’
‘Suppose it’s really expensive?’
I frowned. ‘I won it in a competition at the craft fair,’ I said after a moment.
‘Oh, wow,’ she said admiringly. ‘Creative thinking.’
I felt bad about Mum really. If she found out I was going behind her back, she might not kill me, but she’d be bitterly disappointed in me. It might spoil our whole relationship. But even knowing that, I still had to go.
When I got home from work on Monday night she’d asked me straight away if I’d rung him, and I said I had. She’d been quite intent on knowing whether he’d actually been there himself to answer the phone, but when I’d assured her, quite truthfully, that it had just been an answerphone again, she’d seemed to calm down a bit. I honestly don’t think it occurred to her that I’d disobey her and arrange to go and meet him on my own. I’d never done anything like that before, never gone behind her back.
Alex, of course, had been pleased Mum and I hadn’t actually met him. He’d said that Mum had done the right thing: the bloke was probably some sort of nutter and why had I wanted to meet him anyway? So I wasn’t going to tell Alex that I was going, either.
The only person who knew the truth was Ella.
The week was hectic: more doodles, more trade, more cream teas. I didn’t hear anything from him at all. I even wondered whether he’d got hacked off waiting last Sunday and had decided to call it a day. I went on being charming to everyone, of course, and wore make-up and washed my hair every two days, just in case. No customers gave me especially lingering looks over their prawn-and-mayo sandwiches, though.
For the first three days that week, Ella rang the Missing Persons Helpline every lunchtime, asking if anyone had seen her dad on Teletext and phoned in. On Wednesday her case manager, Maureen, said (very gently, I heard her) that it really wasn’t worth ringing in every day because if they did hear anything, any news at all, they’d contact her straight away. Also for the first three days of that week, Mum asked me if I’d heard anything or got any more deliveries of presents. I said, again quite truthfully, that I hadn’t.
I made sure Ella knew the time and venue for the meeting on Sunday and I arranged to ring her that evening at six, when she’d be back from the craft fair. I said I’d call anyway – whether I was back home or (just in case he was gorgeous) had gone off on a proper date somewhere. If I didn’t ring her by six thirty, we joked, then I’d definitely been kidnapped and she’d let my mum and dad know straight away.
We laughed about it, but something inside me quivered whenever I said the word ‘kidnapped’. Sometimes, lying in bed at night, I stopped seeing him as gorgeous and instead saw a shadowy figure bundling me, blindfolded, into the boot of a car, with a gag in my mouth so tight that I could hardly breathe. Whenever that happened, though, I told myself I’d been watching too many TV crime shows.
No, what I r
eally really thought in the cold light of day was that I’d go off and meet this guy, but he’d be utterly boring and plain. Perfectly nice but with jeans from Woolworth’s and he probably had spots. He’d say his piece and I’d say thank you, I was very flattered but unfortunately I already had a boyfriend. He’d then go off, sadly but with no hard feelings, into the sunset. It would be nice if I received the occasional bunch of flowers from him afterwards, but I’d understand if I didn’t.
Sunday came. I was fiddling around, trying to do myself up a bit without it looking as if I was, when Mum said, ‘Where’s this craft fair you’re going to?’
‘At the community centre,’ I said. I’d found this out, of course.
‘I wouldn’t mind a look in myself,’ she said. ‘Just to see if anyone’s got any good ideas I haven’t heard of yet.’ She had, I knew, finished the moss-ball trees and had started on making sheets of home-made paper with bits of leaf stuck on them.
‘Oh, OK,’ I said. I spoke casually. Oh, no, please don’t!
‘You can’t,’ Dad said. ‘I said we’d pop over and see my mum and dad this afternoon. The lawn’s getting out of hand and I promised him I’d have a go at it.’
‘Oh, all right, then,’ Mum said. She turned back to me. ‘Have a look for me, love, will you? See if there’s anything new I might like doing.’
I nodded, breathed out and carried on getting ready.
‘Ella coming round here for you, then?’
‘No. I’m going there,’ I said. ‘And I might go and see a film with her later.’ This bit might be true: if the day turned out to be a complete washout for whatever reason, then we’d said we’d go and see the new Brad Pitt. ‘I’ll give you a ring if I’m going to be late. Put my dinner on a plate and I’ll microwave it.’
‘OK, darling.’ Mum smiled at me and reached for her handbag. ‘Have a good time. Here’s a fiver. Buy some earrings or something when you’re there.’
I flushed guiltily, but years of taking from her made it quite easy to pocket the fiver. ‘Cheers, Mum!’ I said, turning away quickly and putting the money in my purse.
Mum and Dad had gone out by the time I left the house, which was a relief. While I’d been getting ready I realised that I should have arranged to meet him at a different time from last week. If she’d known I was going out at quarter to three, she might have caught on.
I looked at myself in the mirror on the way out and thought I looked fairly OK; I was a bit tanned, my hair had a couple of blond streaks from the sun and some freckles had come out across my nose. I was wearing my long denim skirt and a white top and had my leather rucksack with me, with the pashmina and earrings inside. I couldn’t decide whether to give them back or not, and thought I’d just see how things went. I didn’t want to lose them – who knew when someone might buy me something as expensive again? Besides, if I gave them back, what was I going to tell Mum when she asked about them?
I set off feeling fine, but was absolutely dying by the time I got to the old palace gates. Dying of fear, dying of embarrassment, dying of squirminess – you name it, I was dying of it. As I approached the meeting place, my legs were wobbly and my stomach was churning round like a washing machine.
I had a quick look round – no one to get excited about – and positioned myself by the wrought-iron gates, quite near to one of the little sentry-box things where the uniformed men sit. If necessary, I thought, I could dive into that sentry box and ask the man to save me.
It was another hot day, but I kept feeling shivery. Lots of people passed by: families, couples, oldies with their grandchildren. No guys on their own, though.
I began to count slowly. I’d get to five hundred, I thought, and if no one had come up to me by then, I’d go home. If I wasn’t already dead of heart failure.
I’d reached two hundred-and-something when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone – I couldn’t see whether it was a man or woman, old or young – coming briskly towards me. I knew this was him, had to be him, but I was turned to stone, my mouth dry, my breath ragged. I couldn’t look, couldn’t even glance towards him, could only wait for him to reach me.
When he did, he stopped in front of me. ‘Sorry,’ he said, smiling. ‘This must have been quite an ordeal for you.’
My first thought was one of intense disappointment. He wasn’t gorgeous. He wasn’t even young. He had short, fair hair cut quite trendily, he had quite a nice face and was, I suppose, good-looking in an old-film-starish way, but he must have been at least forty-five. And I’ve never fancied older men.
He had a wrapped, box-shaped object in his hand and he passed it over. ‘Look, this is for you,’ he said, and I detected again the faint accent. American?
‘No, really,’ I said. ‘I couldn’t.’ Not now I’d seen him I couldn’t. I didn’t know what he was up to, fancying someone years younger than himself, but there was no way I was going to fancy him back.
I swung my rucksack round to the front and rummaged in it, anxious to say my piece and be on my way. ‘I just came to give you these things back.’
‘Please,’ he said, before I could get them out. ‘I don’t want them. Do keep them.’ He tried to give me the wrapped box again. ‘And I’d just like you to have this little … ’
I shook my head violently, not wanting to encourage him in any way. ‘No,’ I said. ‘No, really. I can’t.’
‘I just wanted to talk to you.’
He sighed and I stared at the ground, wanting to run, wishing I hadn’t come.
‘This is really, really difficult, but let me assure you, Holly, I have nothing but good intentions towards you. I don’t wish you the slightest harm.’
I didn’t say anything. What I thought was, he would say that, wouldn’t he? He was hardly going to admit he was a perve.
‘Look, I’m not some dodgy old chap trying to get off with a young girl, I can tell you that. My name’s Ben Simmons. I was born in England but live in the States and I’ve got a lovely wife called Jennie at home. She knows all about this, knows about you.’
A threesome! I thought. Pervy or what? How come I got the nutcases?
‘I wanted to meet you to say thank you but I’m not interested in your presents or anything.’ I blurted out. ‘Please don’t send any more.’
He gave a small smile. ‘Look, I don’t blame you for being suspicious. Or for thinking I’m up to no good. It’s OK, though, really it is. I’m totally on the level.’
‘Then what are you up to?’ I looked him in the eye, just swiftly, and noticed something very strange. His right eye was two different colours, like mine. And there was something else. I know you can never really tell, and you see photos of mass murderers where they look completely innocent and like your favourite uncle, but there was something about his face, his expression, which said to me that he was OK. I chewed my lip. ‘So why … I mean, if you don’t – if it’s not that you fancy me or anything dodgy like that, why are you sending me things?’
‘Ah,’ he said.
I shrugged and waited for an explanation.
‘I’m being very selfish in what I’m doing,’ he said. ‘But then I thought if I didn’t tell you … ’ He stopped and rubbed his nose and I thought to myself that I’d read somewhere that it was a sign that you weren’t telling the truth. And anyway, apart from that, what on earth was he talking about?
‘I’d better start at the beginning. Look, d’you want to walk somewhere? Sit down and have a coffee?’
I shook my head. ‘No, thanks. I just want to go.’
‘OK.’ He rubbed his nose again. ‘I’ll just try and say this as simply as possible. I came into the tea shop a couple of weeks ago. I was looking over old haunts – I’ve been living in the States for some years now and I’m back here on a three-month contract.’
‘Yes?’
‘I … well, let’s just say I recognised you.’
‘What? I’ve never seen you before.’
‘Hang on. Let me go on. After I … I recognised yo
u, I worked things out, dates and so on, and talked to some people who know about genetics and stuff, and in the end I just knew that it was true. There were too many coincidences.’
People continued to go by, cars pulled into the car park. I hoped Mum and Dad wouldn’t come back early from Nan and Grandad’s and see me standing there with him.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I said. I began to edge away. Although he looked perfectly normal, it was obvious that the guy was a complete nutter. He was probably going to tell me he was Jesus any minute now.
‘I mean, it was a shock to me, but I’ve had time to get used to it in these last few weeks. And I just couldn’t go back to the States without telling you.’
‘Telling me what?’
He tried to take my hand. I pulled it away.
‘There’s no easy way of saying this, Holly, and I know it’s going to be a terrible shock to you. You’ve got the right to know, though.’
I stared at him, speechless, waiting for him to say the thing that would change, ruin and dissolve my life.
‘I have to tell you.’ He drew in a deep, shuddering breath. ‘Holly, you’re my daughter.’
Chapter Seven
I stared at him in horror and disbelief. ‘What? You’re mad!’ I shouted, and the next thing I remember was pushing him, and then running away through the crowds, tripping over the wheels of a buggy and dropping the little square present which I somehow found I had hold of. I heard a tinkle of broken glass as it landed on the ground but just left it. I steadied myself, apologised to the buggy-owner and ran on.
Behind me, I heard him shout, ‘Holly! Come back!’
I don’t know whether he started running too, but I knew the area well and the odds were that he didn’t. I ran across the forecourt of the palace, dodged down a lane by the river, ran under the bridge and hid behind a large oak tree.
My heart was pounding so loudly I could hear it. Total nightmare! What an absolute nutter!
I gasped, bending over and trying to catch my breath. Mum had been right to decide not to meet him. You just didn’t know what people were like. And he’d looked nice, too. So reasonable and ordinary. But then, I guessed, so had Jack the Ripper.
