by Teri Terry
No way. Are there two universities, across the road from each other?
Soon I see that this one is even bigger. I wander around different buildings, looking for anything that might help. Finally I see some students dressed in what look like doctors’ white coats, and follow them to a hospital. I explore its corridors, but nothing feels familiar, and nowhere do I see Mum or her name.
I leave the hospital and go to buildings nearby, one after another, but nothing.
What am I going to do if I can’t find her?
One more building. Then one more again. This one has a cafeteria downstairs, next to an office for Bacterial Cell Biology—that doesn’t sound right. I’m about to leave when I see another office on the other side: the Institute of Health and Society.
I pause. I don’t even know what that is, but there is something about the words that clicks.
I check the rest of the building. There are offices upstairs, names on doors. I go past one, then another, and another.
When I finally see the words, I almost can’t take them in: Dr. S. Tanzer.
Is this her office? Is she here?
The door is shut, but there is a small gap underneath it. I’m afraid. What if she’s not here?
I make myself thin and flow under the door.
Mummy? I whisper. She’s sitting at a desk. Dark hair swept back in a ponytail. Small lines around her eyes, but she’s beautiful. So beautiful. I drink her in, hungry for every detail I can fill in now to replace what I’ve forgotten.
There is a photo on the side of her desk. Me and her, and my brother. Kai, he likes to be called; his middle name is Kai. The details are coming faster now.
Mum sighs. She’s typing on a laptop. She sips at something in a cup, then makes a face and puts it down again and types some more. I look at what she is writing for a while, but it’s boring medical stuff.
Instead, I just stare at her face.
My mummy.
CHAPTER 9
SHAY
IONA COMES BACK on the bus to Killin with me after school. She grumbles about being doubled on my bike up the endless hill out of town until I offer to swap and let her do the pedaling. She screeches and clings to me when I let the wheels spin down the lane from the main road to our house, then brake at the last minute.
“You must have a death wish,” she says.
I lean the bike against the house, some part of me still weirded out by not having to chain-lock it ten times to stop it from disappearing, like I always had to in London. Of course this house is truly in the middle of nowhere.
Mum’s car isn’t here: we’ve got the place to ourselves. Good.
I open the door and rub the Buddha’s tummy in the hall on the way past, Iona impatient behind me.
“So we’re alone now, tell me! What’s going on?”
“Yes, yes, I said I would and I will. But I need to find my phone first so I can give you your phone back.”
“Where did you last have it?”
“Um…”
“When did you last use it?”
I shrug.
She calls it as we wander around the house: no ring. The battery must be dead.
We spend ages hunting for it: on counters and tables, under books and sofa cushions, behind furniture. My desk, under my bed, in coat pockets. Until finally Iona finds it in the pocket of yesterday’s jeans in the laundry bin.
“Right. I’m taking care of this,” Iona says, brandishing my phone. “Going through your dirty socks is too much punishment.”
“What do you mean?”
“Lost phone app. I’m linking your phone to mine so I can use my phone to find yours. If—I mean, when—you lose it again, it’ll show where it is on a map on my phone. Give me your charger and password.”
“Okay, fine.” I find the charger and tell her the password, and she plugs it in, then downloads and sets up the app.
Then I text Kai. Hi, found my phone!
Moments later, my phone beeps: he’s answered. Keep it close, Shay. You never know when you might need it. Tomorrow is arranged. What time and where do you finish school? I’ll meet you there. K xx
Two kisses. Maybe he always ends texts like that. Maybe he doesn’t. He didn’t when he texted me from Newcastle the other night.
“You’re grinning at your phone like a goofy,” Iona says.
“Hmmm?”
She grabs it away. “Ah, I see: K xx. And he’ll be meeting you after school, will he? Who is K? And are they proper kisses for you then, or just the casual signing-off sort of kisses? I see that you are hoping for the real thing. Tell me everything.”
“Just let me answer him back.” I text McLaren High, Callander, think on the time, factoring in long enough to change out of my school uniform, and name a street corner near the school. I hesitate, then end it with S xx. Hit “send.”
Iona peers over my shoulder and howls with laughter.
“What?”
“That’s a wee bit forward, Shay.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Autocorrect. It autocorrected.” She’s laughing so hard she can hardly talk, and my stomach sinks.
I look at the phone. My text ends with see you then Sexy.
“Oh. My. God.” I look at her, horrified.
“I’m sorry for laughing. It’s just…it’s so…” And she’s shaking with suppressed mirth.
“Should I text back and say it autocorrected?”
She shrugs. “That’ll draw attention; maybe it didn’t register.”
“I can’t leave it, I can’t.” I think for a moment, then text back: *ahem* that should have been “S xx”
It vibrates seconds later: damn.
Iona looks over my shoulder. “He’s flirting with you.”
“Nah. He’s making fun.”
“He so is flirting,” Iona says. “All right. Whole story now, please.”
“You have to promise not to put this in the school paper, or your blog, or anywhere.” Iona blogs anonymously as Jitterbug: Journalist-in-training (JIT)—she’s forever looking for scoops to go on it.
She sighs and crosses her heart with her finger. “I promise. Now go.”
So I tell her: starting with kneeing Duncan in the Co-op—Iona finds this immensely satisfying and makes me describe over and over the way he hit the floor—to finding the flyer, calling Kai, and the rest. But I end the story where Kai hugged me goodbye at the café. I leave out Duncan grabbing me, Kai beating him up, then coming home with me after and holding my hand. Some things I want—need—to keep to myself.
“So, this face in the paper is the man you saw with Kai’s sister?”
“Yes.”
“And your hot date involves going to talk to the police? Not exactly the right ambience to hook up.”
I roll my eyes. “Exactly.”
“Have you got the photo from the paper still?”
I pull out the bit of paper from my pocket and hold it out to Iona. She studies it.
“Shame he’s dead: dead men don’t answer many questions.”
* * *
That night, after Iona’s brother collects her and Mum gets home, the two of us settle in front of the news channel with our dinner. A new habit since the Shetland disaster.
There is the continuing speculation about what caused the explosions. There was seismic activity recorded in the area just before the oil reservoir exploded. But reports from some witnesses suggest the explosions started somewhere else, not at the depot, and experts argue about whether an earthquake of that nature could cause the destruction it did. There are tragic tales of those lost too, and the miraculous escapes and heroic rescues that reporters hunt for.
Then news from Aberdeen:
“Just in. Cases of a particularly virulent new strain of flu are being reported around Aberdeen. Schools in the area will be closed from tomorrow as a precaution. People are advised to avoid nonessential travel to the area.”
Mum shakes her head. “I wonder if that’s why
I haven’t heard again from Davy? Perhaps they all have the flu.” Her face is worried.
“Well, even if they do. How many times have I had the flu?” I’m the one every germ in the area seems to navigate toward. Swine flu was the worst. “I’m sure they’ll be fine.”
Mum’s still uneasy. “I’m dosing up your immune system with a special mixture right now.”
“No…not a special mixture!” Mum’s not into conventional medicine, and her “special mixtures” taste horrendous. “I’d rather have the flu.”
“You will drink it, and so will I.”
She returns from the kitchen minutes later, two small glasses of murky green sludge in her hand.
I know a losing fight when I see one, and clink my glass against hers. “Bottoms up!” I say, and swallow it fast so I taste it less; then mime choking and fall on the floor, twitching.
“You crazy girl.” She holds out a hand. I put mine in hers and she helps me up to sit next to her on the sofa. The news is running still—now back to Shetland. Fires are still burning, on land and at sea, on oil rigs. There is talk of an environmental disaster, and other islands in the area are being evacuated as a precaution.
Mum sighs. “First Shetland, now some new flu in Aberdeen. Bad luck comes in threes. What will be next for poor Scotland?”
CHAPTER 10
CALLIE
IT’S OUR HOUSE: MY HOME. But nothing on the outside of it is familiar, nothing at all.
Mum had biked home from work. She turned by a sign that said Jesmond, then went down leafy streets and stopped in front of this house in the middle of a row of terraced houses. She locked her bicycle to a rack in the front yard.
Mum opens the front door and takes off her helmet.
“Hello?” she calls out.
I don’t wait to see if anyone answers—I speed into the house, as anxious to see my adored older brother as I was my mum.
But when I go into the front room, only one person is there, and I don’t know him. Could I have gotten what Kai looks like so wrong? But no—the photo on Mum’s desk jived with what I remember. This isn’t my brother.
Mum walks into the room now. “Hello, Martin,” she says. “Good day?”
He looks up from a computer and makes a face. “It’s slow going.”
“Ah, hang in there; it’ll come together. Where is Kai? Have you seen him?” she says, a quirk of concern between her eyes.
“He tore off on his bike this morning. Not back yet.”
She sits and they talk about some science thing Martin is writing. He seems to be a student staying here—some sort who is already a doctor himself—and what they are talking about is soon boring.
Instead I explore.
The house has four bedrooms. The one that must be Mum’s is on the top floor. Next to it is a smaller one. It’s done in red and white. There are kids’ books on shelves, girls’ clothes in the wardrobe. My room? It must be.
The floor below has two more bedrooms. One is full of books and must belong to the student downstairs. The other must be Kai’s. There are posters of motorcycles on the walls; models of bikes hang from the ceiling. Soccer gear thrown in a corner. It’s a mess, like he doesn’t care.
Downstairs now, Mum is in the kitchen, clattering about. I go back into the front room, where the student has given up on his laptop; the TV is on. I sit next to him. He’s watching some quiz show with questions no sane person would know the answers to, and yet he is shouting them out.
There are photos on the walls—Mum, Kai, me. I drift over to them, study them, and drink them in.
Kai with a dirty face and soccer trophy—he must be about ten. Mum young and in funny black robes and hat. There are old people next to her, beaming: my grandparents? Baby photos of me. Me and Kai together at all ages.
I try to fill the corners inside me, tucking each of these old memories away like a new one: This is who I am.
No, that’s not quite right. I sigh, gripped by sadness. Martin is eating his dinner in front of the TV, and there are empty places at the table where Mum sits, eating alone. Kai may come home and take one of them, but one chair will always be empty to them. Even if I sit down in it, next to them, they’ll never know I’m there.
This is who I was.
CHAPTER 11
SHAY
IONA INSISTS ON COMING WITH ME to check out Kai. She’s still in uniform, waiting while I do a quick change into jeans, a T-shirt. Despite Iona’s teasing, I know this is serious. This is about Calista, Kai’s sister. Nothing else could be more important to him right now, and that’s the way it should be. But I still brush my hair and fuss with it in the mirror in the school bathroom. As usual the curls have a mind of their own, and today they’ve decided to twist and tangle into a mess.
“You’ll be late,” Iona says, and pulls me away from the mirror. “Come on!”
Iona marches me out of the school grounds and gate, down the road to the corner where I told Kai we’d meet. There were showers earlier, but the sun is out now, glinting on the wet trees and grass. He rounds the corner just as we reach it. The sun is behind him when he pulls in and takes off his helmet. He shakes it and water droplets fly.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi,” I answer. His eyes move to Iona, next to me. “This is my friend, Iona; it was her phone I was using yesterday.”
“And you must be Sexy,” she says, and he laughs. When laughter finds him, it softens his eyes; the intensity in them eases.
Iona is smiling back at him, tilting her head to one side. I push her shoulder.
“Right. I’m off,” she says.
He shakes his head, watching her go. Her skirt is too short; I’ve never noticed this before. I bet he’s noticing, and I swivel to stare at his eyes, to watch them, but now he’s wiping rainwater off the back of his bike seat with his arm. He gets the red helmet out for me, hands it over. I just stand there and look at him.
“Is something wrong?” he says.
“Nothing. Just nothing.” I put the helmet on, and off we go to the police office in Callander.
I’ve never been in one before, and it’s not much like the movies. We say who we are, and moments later Dougal comes out. He shakes Kai’s hand, says hello to me, ushers us around to a desk.
He has a copy of the newspaper in front of him with Brian Daugherty’s photo circled.
“So, Shay. You’re sure this is the man you saw with Calista Tanzer on the twenty-ninth of June last year?”
“Yes. It’s him. It’s the little scar here, by his eye.” I point. “The way his hair is. It’s definitely him.”
“I’ve done some checking. Mr. Daugherty’s body was found by search and rescue teams on a footpath. They’re not sure yet why he died; it wasn’t from the fires. Also, we’re not sure why he was on Shetland in the first place. He doesn’t work there, own or rent property, or report income. If he was on vacation, he wasn’t registered as staying anywhere—as much as we can check, with the mess on Shetland at the moment. He didn’t fly in or take the ferry.”
“Well, if he wasn’t from Shetland, can’t you find out where he did live and check there, see if anyone knows anything about him?” Kai says.
“No. He’s an enigma. In fact, there’ve been no records of him being anywhere for over five years. He hasn’t paid taxes or had a speeding fine or claimed benefits: nothing.”
“Then how did they work out who he was, if he wasn’t supposed to be there and no one knows anything about him?” I ask.
Dougal hesitates. “Fingerprints,” he finally says.
“Doesn’t that mean he’s got a record or something, or why would you have his fingerprints?” Kai asks.
“I’m not at liberty to answer that just now,” Dougal answers.
Kai frowns. “Is that it? He might be the man who took my sister, but you can’t find out anything about his recent movements and won’t tell us everything you can about his past?”
“Kai, calm down. We’ll continue to look into him, I pr
omise you. I’ll call if anything turns up. But at the end of the day, dead men don’t answer many questions.” Iona’s words, almost exactly the same.
Kai argues with Dougal a while longer until finally we leave.
He radiates tension as we walk to his bike. “This can’t be a dead end. There has to be something they can find out about that man that will lead to Calista.” He shakes his head, looks at me. “I need to ride. Fast. I can take you home first, if you want. Or do you want to come along?” There is challenge in his eyes, and my pulse quickens.
“I’ll come. Just don’t kill us.” I’m half kidding, half not. His eyes are wild. Maybe he’ll drive safer with me along? Maybe he won’t.
“I know just the place to go,” he says.
We get on the bike. He drives close enough to the speed limit to not get in trouble. We head out of Callander, farther into the Trossachs National Park. All the way, I think the bike is straining to run, to be set free. Finally he takes a turn that I know: Three Lochs Drive. A scenic drive past lochs, down twisty single-lane roads that are all one-way: no one will be coming from the other direction.
He pulls in, stops at the turn, and twists around to look at me. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”
My adrenaline is already pumping from the drive to this place. “Hell, yeah!”
He grins. “Hold on here,” he says, and pulls my hands farther around him, lower, near his hips. “Lean with me, the way I do; don’t fight the bike. Pinch me if you want me to slow down or stop for any reason.”
I glance up as we start off. The sun is still out—just. Clouds are pulling in and the wind is picking up as we take off.
He gears up; fast, then faster again. There is an edge of control still, and I can almost feel him longing to lose it and let go completely. It’s like flying!
The darkening sky, the increasing wind almost don’t register. When the rain starts, I’m startled.
Kai slows.
The rain intensifies, and he pulls in under some trees.
