Hide and Secrets

by Sophie McKenzie

  Mum blinks, her pale forehead creasing in a deep frown. ‘Oh, Cat,’ she says. ‘I understand how much you miss Dad, but can’t you hear how ridiculous all this sounds?’ She sighs. ‘Seriously, doesn’t what I’ve just told you make more sense than Rik’s lies? Plus I did Rik’s birth chart after Dad told me about him. He has Gemini in the ascendant and his moon is in Scorpio in the eighth house. Put those together and you’re bound to find a liar and a cheat.’

  Now who sounds ridiculous?

  I look up at her, feeling sullen. ‘But why would Rik make up that Dad was still alive?’ I ask. ‘And why after all this time?’

  Mum shrugs. ‘Perhaps he’s been away or… or in prison. Or perhaps he just got sacked from yet another job and blames Dad for where he’s ended up and thought he’d take it out on you?’

  ‘You’re saying he’d make up a story like that for revenge?’

  ‘It’s possible,’ Mum says. ‘Remember that moon sign of his. People with Scorpio in the eighth are almost always mean and manipulative. I’ve seen it a million times.’

  ‘But what about his aunt?’

  ‘She didn’t think Dad was alive, did she?’

  ‘No…’ I concede reluctantly. ‘But there was this man on a bike. He… he might have been watching us.’ I stammer to a halt, aware that I’m clutching at straws in my attempt to convince her.

  ‘Might?’ Mum frowns. ‘What does that mean? Did he approach you? Did he follow you?’

  I shake my head, falling silent.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Cat,’ Mum says slowly, ‘but you need to face reality. Dad… Dad’s gone and I know that you’re hurting but—’

  ‘This isn’t about me hurting.’ Her words rub against me like the fine sandpaper I use to keep my sewing needles and scissors sharp. ‘This is about saving Dad’s life. We need to find him before the FFG track him down.’

  Mum reaches across and pats my hand. ‘I want you to put this whole story out of your head.’

  ‘I can’t,’ I say. ‘I won’t.’

  ‘You have to,’ Mum persists. ‘Do you have Rik Adamski’s number? We should report him for harassment.’

  I shake my head. ‘He said he used a burner phone.’

  ‘Of course he did.’ Mum rolls her eyes. ‘Now I need to get on with my work. I have clients to organize and a speech to write.’ She gets up. ‘I meant what I said. You need to let Rik and his stupid lies go.’ She pauses. ‘I want you to promise me that you’ll tell me immediately if he calls you again. Okay?’

  I give her a sulky nod, though I’ve got no intention of keeping my word. Mum’s wrong. I know she is.

  ‘Okay, then.’ Mum gives me a final, worried look, then heads off to her office. I hurry up to my room, where I lie on my bed, thoughts whirling through my head. If Rik really was lying about him and Dad being close friends, how come he knew so much about me? Mum would probably say he’d looked on my social media. But that doesn’t explain how he knew about ‘Kitterbug’. Or the FFG going round to Aunt Sandy and asking questions.

  No. Whatever Mum says, I’m certain Dad is out there somewhere, and I’m going to find him. And fast.

  Whatever it takes.

  13

  I wake up the next day to find Bess standing over me, a new drawing clutched in her hand. She gives a little skip when she sees my eyes are open and proudly displays her picture. I’m expecting another dog and, indeed, there is a Pirate-like puppy, complete with brown patch over one eye, to the side of her main drawing. But the focus of the picture is a man – clearly meant to be Mr Tuesday, down to his khaki cargo shorts and big smile. I wriggle on to my elbows and peer more closely. A woman stands next to Mr Tuesday. Her head is wound round with a purple scarf. Wild red curls spring out of it at all angles. She’s wearing a dress full of colourful swirls with long pink fringing flying out from the arms.

  ‘Is that Mum?’ I ask.

  Bess nods, beaming with delight. Her hair isn’t plaited yet and falls, soft and golden, over her shoulders. I stare at her sweet, heart-shaped face. It’s not how Bess means it, I’m sure, but it’s like she’s drawn a picture of her mum and dad.

  Except, of course, that Mr Tuesday isn’t her dad.

  Anger rises inside me, not at Bess but at the situation… the way Mum is in denial, the way that she won’t even admit the possibility Dad might still be alive.

  I force myself to smile at Bess and tell her what a brilliant picture she’s done, then I dress quickly, determined to find Tyler as soon as possible. I put on a green A-line dress that I made from an old silk kimono of Mum’s and pin back my fringe with a vintage jade-green hairclip.

  Standing back, I examine myself in the mirror. I messed up the stitching on the side seam of this dress, but, thanks to the way the silk falls in folds, you can’t really tell. It’s a pretty shape and colour, but it can’t disguise my awkwardness. I was aiming for ‘cool and quirky’ but I’m probably just signalling ‘trying too hard’.

  I heave a sigh, altering the hairclip so that more of my fringe falls over my face. Then I turn away from the mirror, trying not to think about how much less attractive than Tyler I am. He’d never be interested in me in a million years…

  Mrs Trimble is chatting to Bess in the kitchen when I wander downstairs. ‘Now let’s put in the eggs,’ she says. ‘Did you whisk up all three?’

  I reach the back door and shuffle my feet into my sliders.

  ‘Ah, Cat, good, you’re up.’ Mum stands in her office door. She’s wearing cut-off jeans and a bright pink top – her ‘non-client’ clothes for those days when she isn’t seeing people at the house.

  ‘I need to do something,’ I say, putting my hand on the back-door handle.

  ‘Not so fast.’ Mum grins. She’s not wearing any make-up and her eyes look smaller than usual without the long black flicks and frosted eyeshadow. ‘Come with me; I want to talk to you.’

  I trudge reluctantly across the hall and follow her into her office. It’s the usual cluttered mess of scattered papers and bulging files.

  ‘I’m doing the keynote speech at the Mercury Rising Astrological Convention next week and I haven’t even begun writing the thing,’ Mum confides. ‘I want to make a start today, but there’s masses of admin to catch up on.’ She waves her arm to indicate the room. I frown. What is she driving at? ‘I think it will be good for you,’ Mum continues, ‘not to mention a huge help to me, for you to spend the next few days helping out with my office work.’ She smiles brightly.

  Is she serious? My frown deepens.

  ‘Come on, Cat. It will take your mind off all this nonsense about Dad and this awful Rik character.’

  I chew on my lip, feeling mutinous. I have no intention of ‘taking my mind’ off trying to find Dad. In fact, what I want to do now – more than anything – is go around to the Barn, get Tyler and talk it all through with him. He was so smart yesterday figuring out the FFG tattoo. I’m sure he’ll have a suggestion for what I should do next.

  ‘I can’t, Mum,’ I say. ‘I… I don’t feel well,’ I lie. ‘I think I have a temperature.’

  Mum’s eyes narrow. She takes a step towards me and feels my forehead with the back of her hand. ‘Nonsense.’ She gives me a beady stare. My heart sinks. It’s not a look her clients ever see, but I know that expression all too well. It means she’s made up her mind, and nothing will deflect her. ‘Come on, now, Cat,’ she says, briskly, ‘let me show you what I need you to do.’

  * * *

  I pull the keyboard of Mum’s computer towards me. I’ve only been at work for an hour and I’m already bored and hot, my top sticking to my back. I open the website email and groan. There are seventy-two new emails, most of which will be enquiries from people wanting to either make an appointment with Mum, or find out more about her work. My job is to sift through these, printing out the requests for private readings and drafting replies to the others. I delete the obvious crackpots who just want to meet Mum because she used to be a D-list celebrity, such as:
r />   As a fellow traveller on the Spiritual Superhighway, I would love to meet, connect and share my thoughts on the influence of the Venus retrograde on modern society.

  I also delete the hateful messages. To be fair, the worst of these appear on Mum’s social media, which she deals with herself, but there are always a few emails too.

  Some of these are semi-religious:

  Know that you are doing the work of the devil.

  Others are simply scornful, with bad spelling:

  Your a loony and totel witch.

  That sort of thing.

  It takes nearly two more hours to plough through them all. Mum checks in on me several times, then says I can have an hour off for lunch. I grab a sandwich from the pile Mrs Trimble has made and stroll outside. I wonder, idly, where Bess is. Normally, by this time in the day, she’d have sought me out and curled up nearby to draw or play silently with her menagerie of dolls and soft toy animals.

  Mostly, however, I’m thinking about finding Dad – and wondering where Tyler is. I gulp down my sandwich and wander across the lawn towards the Barn. I see him before he sees me. He’s squatting in the courtyard, digging away at the weeds that peek up between the gravel around the mosaic. He’s hunched over, the muscles in his arms flexing as he works. Mr Tuesday is leaning against the sundial in the centre, examining the piece of paper in his hands.

  ‘There’s a lot to do,’ he says. ‘The only area that doesn’t need work is this.’ He indicates the inner circle of star-shaped tiles that surround the sundial. ‘So here’s the plan: once we’ve cleared out the weeds and the broken tiles, we can start work on the repairs – and the replacements for the missing star signs.’ He points to the three big gaps in the horoscope that surrounds the sundial, then holds up the piece of paper. ‘The outline designs for those are on this.’

  ‘What do they look like?’ Tyler asks, glancing up.

  ‘See for yourself.’ Mr Tuesday offers him the paper.

  Neither of them have noticed I’m here. I take a step closer and realize, with a jolt of surprise, that Bess is here too, sitting at the far edge of the courtyard on her rug. As usual, she’s surrounded by a cluster of her favourite toys plus, of course, her drawing book and pens. She’s concentrating fiercely on her picture.

  Like the others, she hasn’t noticed me.

  Tyler walks over to his dad and takes the piece of paper. They’re both wearing long cargo shorts and trainers, but whereas Mr Tuesday’s shoes are worn and weather-beaten, Tyler’s are clean and new. I gaze down at the dress I chose so carefully earlier. Out here in the sunlight, I realize it’s badly creased and that the crooked seam is more obvious than I’d thought. I tug the skirt straight, feeling self-conscious.

  Across the courtyard, Tyler is peering intently at the paper with the designs for the three missing star signs.

  ‘According to these outlines –’ Mr Tuesday scratches his head – ‘we need to put in a couple of fishes swimming in opposite directions on the right side, then a lion’s head and what looks like some sort of lobster on the left.’

  ‘What do they mean?’ Tyler asks.

  Mr Tuesday shrugs, then glances across at Bess. ‘Hey, Bess, any idea what these star signs are?’

  Bess scampers over. Mr Tuesday lowers the paper so she can take a look. She wrinkles her nose and shakes her head. Mr Tuesday laughs and Bess grins back. It strikes me that I’ve seen her smile more in the two days that the Tuesdays have been here than in the whole of the previous seventeen months.

  ‘Hey, Cat!’ Tyler looks up and sees me at last.

  ‘Hi!’ I wander over, trying to look like I’m just on a casual stroll. ‘Hi, Mr Tuesday. Hey, Bess.’

  Bess looks up at me, her dark eyes registering surprise at the super-casual tone I’m using. My stomach gives a twist. She can always tell when I’m feeling self-conscious.

  ‘Hello there,’ Mr Tuesday says cheerily. ‘We were just looking at the designs for the mosaic renovation. Afraid I’m not very up on star signs.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Um… well, the fishes are Pisces. Then the lion is Leo, and the other one isn’t a lobster, it’s a crab. For Cancer.’ I break off, suddenly feeling awkward that I’ve said the word Tyler’s mum died from. I look down, my cheeks burning.

  Mr Tuesday nods sagely. ‘Well, there’s a thing.’

  I can feel Tyler’s eyes on my face.

  Mr Tuesday gives him a nudge. ‘Wanna take a break, son? You’ve been at it for hours.’

  Tyler nods. I look up.

  ‘I’ll get us a drink,’ he says.

  He disappears inside, while Bess shows Mr Tuesday her drawing. He’s incredibly gentle with her, taking far more time to examine each picture than Mum ever does.

  ‘This is a great one,’ he murmurs. ‘Had a pup like that when I was a boy.’

  There’s a stillness about him, a patient calmness which Mum doesn’t have at all. And it’s different from Dad, too, who was always getting us to run about and play and do stuff.

  Tyler reappears with three cartons of juice. He gives one to Bess and hands me another.

  ‘Your mum was very kind to provide us with all that food,’ Mr Tuesday says. ‘We won’t need to shop for days.’

  It’s the second time he’s mentioned the groceries. Should I tell him that it was almost certainly Mrs Trimble who went shopping for them? I decide against; talking about it would just be embarrassing. I shield my eyes from the sun. ‘Shall we take these into the shade?’ I ask Tyler.

  He nods and we wander around the side of the Barn to the cool of the orchard. We sit down opposite each other, each of us with our back against a gnarly tree trunk.

  ‘What’s up?’ Tyler asks.

  I smile to myself. Clearly Bess isn’t the only one who can sense when I’m upset.

  ‘I told Mum everything… about Dad, what Rik said, talking to Rik’s aunt, the guy on the bike…’

  ‘And?’

  I sigh. ‘She’s certain Rik’s made up everything to get some weird kind of revenge on Dad. She was furious that he’d got in touch with me,’ I explain. ‘Rik warned me she’d been fed a load of lies about him. She refuses to trust anything he says.’

  It suddenly occurs to me that, in the cold light of day, Tyler might have come to the same conclusion.

  ‘Right.’ Tyler takes a sip of his juice. He puts it carefully on the grass beside him.

  ‘I don’t buy that Rik was lying,’ he says at last.

  ‘I don’t either,’ I say, feeling relieved.

  ‘For lots of reasons, but mostly because it doesn’t make sense that Rik would do something so convoluted after so much time,’ Tyler says. ‘Anyway, if Rik was lying about everything, why did the FFG visit his aunt?’ He takes another gulp of his drink.

  ‘Exactly.’

  We sit in silence for a minute, the only sound the breeze rustling in the trees above.

  ‘So what d’you want to do now?’ Tyler asks.

  ‘I guess I need to look for clues to where Dad might have gone.’ I make a face. ‘I just don’t know where to begin.’

  Tyler nods. ‘What about his old belongings? Did he have a laptop?’

  I shake my head. ‘He used the PC in Mum’s office sometimes. He had a phone, of course, but, like I told you, that was found in his boat when it washed up on shore. It was wet from the sea and the salt… damaged beyond repair.’

  ‘What about the rest of his stuff?’ Tyler persists.

  ‘There’s the box in Mum’s office that I’ve already been through,’ I explain. ‘And some more in the attic.’

  ‘Shall we look there, then?’ Tyler stands up. He has a way of moving that’s muscular, but graceful.

  I hesitate. Part of me wants to look alone. Letting Tyler see my family’s private things feels uncomfortable. But Tyler is looking at me expectantly, with those intense brown-gold eyes of his.

  Anyway, searching through everything will be quicker if there are two of us.

  ‘Sure.’ I scramble
to my feet. ‘Let’s go.’

  I lead Tyler across the lawn and into our house. He follows me to the end of the first-floor landing, where I open the little door that leads up to our attic. Tyler has to duck as he walks up the narrow stairs. I switch on the light on the beam at the top.

  The attic is old and dusty and full of stuff from not just my childhood and Mum’s, but loads of her family before her. It’s crammed from floor to ceiling with boxes and bags spilling open with everything from old, often broken toys to moth-eaten curtains. Bess’s old pushchair lies on top of an ancient set of skittles, while cobwebs festoon the three large trunks tipped on their ends in the corner.

  ‘Where’re your dad’s things?’ Tyler asks, looking around. ‘Are they at the front?’

  I sigh, the enormity of the task ahead hitting me. ‘They could be anywhere,’ I say helplessly. ‘Mum chucks stuff up here every six months or so. She just shoves things wherever there’s a space. No labels. It’s all random.’

  Tyler whistles, running his hand through his hair.

  ‘I know,’ I say. ‘It’s going to take ages, but it’s all there is to go on.’

  Tyler reaches across and squeezes my shoulder. His touch sends a tingle through my whole body.

  ‘Don’t worry, Cat,’ he says. And I realize it’s the first time he’s actually spoken my name out loud. ‘We’ll do it together.’

  14

  It feels weird letting Tyler help me, I’m so used to doing everything by myself. Still, there’s no way I’d be able to get through the mountain of stuff in the attic on my own. We don’t have much time: I’m stuck in Mum’s office most of the day, working on her appointments and emails. Meanwhile Tyler is helping his dad with the mosaic renovation. As soon as we’re both free, we head up to the attic and open endless bags and boxes.

  By the end of the second afternoon, we’ve found nothing connected with Dad, let alone anything that will give us a clue as to his current whereabouts. Just a load of old toys and clothes plus some ancient and mostly broken household equipment, as well as furniture and ornaments from Mum’s childhood and before.