The Night They Vanished, page 12
“This is what I always wanted to run away from,” I say to Adam. “A life so small you can’t breathe without someone knowing.”
Dee waits until we turn the corner and are out of sight of Stephen before she rounds on me. “What’s going on, Han? Why the hell are we going to see Reverend Garner?”
I sigh. “Mr. Garner is literally the only person in the village who would talk to me. Even after everything… he kept in touch. He wanted to help. You and an ex-vicar, that’s it, Dee. That’s all I had.” I pause. “For a long time… I was basically banished. My dad told me not to come back and he wouldn’t take my calls. It was Mr. Garner who intervened, calmed Dad down after I was back on the straight and narrow, persuaded him to let me visit.”
Dee’s lips press together in a thin line and I smile. “Don’t be jealous, Dee—I promise I never replaced you as my best friend with Mr. Garner.”
She snorts and shakes her head. “God, Hanna—what are you like? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Adam clears his throat and we both turn. I’d forgotten he was with us for a moment there. “I have no idea what either of you are talking about, but your overzealous policeman friend is still watching us. He popped his head around the corner and disappeared again. His covert following skills are pretty poor, but I think if we hang around here too long, he may decide to arrest us for loitering.”
Mr. Garner had to leave the old vicarage when he retired, moving to a small cottage at the back of the village and investing the rest of his savings in an apartment in Spain where he spends half the year. He married young, but lost his wife to cancer when they were both in their late forties. I have vague but nice memories of Mrs. Garner—she ran the Sunday school that my dad of course made me attend. It stopped running after she died, but Mr. Garner still ran youth clubs with a group of volunteers. The one he had most involvement in was a group for what the village collectively called “troubled children”; I was sent to that one after my mum died. As a grieving child, I remember he was kind and patient and quiet and most of all sad, just like me. I became more “troubled” as I got older and stopped going, but Mr. Garner continued being kind and patient, and I’d sometimes hover at the edges of his group. He never judged, not even when I was at my most destructive. I used to wish he was my dad.
I’ve never visited the house he lives in now. After his retirement, our communication was purely by text or letter a couple of times a year. The cottage looks exactly how a retired vicar’s cottage should look from the outside: crumbling stone, ivy, a blue-painted door, a pot of spring flowers next to it.
I’m guessing he must be in his early seventies by now, but to me, Mr. Garner doesn’t look any different to how he looked back then. Maybe the gray hair is a bit thinner, maybe there are more lines on his face, but his smile is the same and it still soothes me like it always did. He remembers Dee, and I introduce him to Adam as he beckons us inside.
The rooms are small but not cluttered. It looks much as the vicarage used to, and I recognize most of the furniture although there’s less here. Still lots of shelves loaded with books, still walls covered in framed photographs and paintings. It’s like the vicarage in miniature, and it amuses me to imagine the rest of the old vicarage furniture now taking pride of place in some modern apartment in Spain.
“I was surprised to get your message,” he says as we all settle in his living room. “Now that your family has moved, I wondered why you’d want to come back here.”
I glance at Dee and Adam. I don’t want to get into the whole story; it’s not something Mr. Garner needs to be involved in. Despite my words to Stephen Hayes, I do still feel residual guilt over his retirement. Mr. Garner always insisted he was planning to retire, but I couldn’t help but wonder at how sudden it seemed, I couldn’t help but feel that my behavior and his involvement forced him into the decision sooner than he might have wished. I don’t want to do that to him again. Bad enough that Stephen already knows we’re here.
“I lost touch with them again,” I say. “I’m hoping being back here will fill in some of the gaps.”
Mr. Garner sighs and leans back. “You know your family very much kept themselves to themselves. I’d see your stepmother in the village sometimes, but your father and Sasha, very rarely.”
“And you never noticed anyone… new hanging around town, or hanging around them? Or any of them acting oddly in any way?”
I wait. He’s frowning, looking as if he’s trying to find the right way to say something. He doesn’t want to say anything negative about my father, that’s clear.
“Not odd, exactly, but Sasha did come to see me,” he says. “Just before Christmas.”
That is definitely odd—Sasha would have no reason to visit Mr. Garner. It’s a long time since he had any involvement in local kids’ groups. “She came to see you? What for?”
He smiles. “To ask about you, funnily enough. To fill in gaps of her own.”
My cheeks are hot. I don’t need a mirror to know I’m blushing. I should have come to see him on my own. “What did you tell her?”
“Only that I knew you when you were young, that you were part of groups I ran.” He pauses. “I think she wanted to know you better, and I hope I was able to give her an insight into the lovely girl you were.”
Oh, this kind man. This kind, kind man. Only Reverend Garner would describe the messed-up kid I used to be as a lovely girl. Seeing the good in all of the troubled kids he helped is what ended up killing his career.
“She asked about some of your old friends, too. She said she’d found some photographs.”
My skin is tingling. “How strange,” I say, trying to sound casual. “I was going to ask you the same thing… if any of the old group were still around.”
Mr. Garner sighs. He glances at Adam and Dee and lowers his voice, leans in closer to me. “The photograph she showed me—it was you, with Carrie and the others. But I’m afraid I said the same to her as I have to say to you—you’re the only one who ever kept in touch.”
“I’m sorry. I thought it was a bit of a long shot. I can’t even remember most of their surnames…” Except for Carrie, of course. I remember her surname.
“I have records of their names somewhere. I’d be happy to find them for you. I can’t give you any contact information, obviously, and I doubt any of it would be any good now anyway, but I can give you their names at least.”
“Thank you.”
I half expect him to ask why I’m looking for them now, after all this time, but he doesn’t. Maybe he assumes I’m trying to slay some old demons, like he was always encouraging me to do.
As soon as Mr. Garner leaves the room to find those names, I lean over to Dee. “You know who will have all the info about anything weird that happened when my family left town…”
I know who the local gossipmongers are, but there is no way on earth I would ever speak to any of them. Or that they would tell me anything even if I did. But Dee and Adam… They might speak to them.
Dee looks back at me and raises her eyebrows. She stands up and stretches. “You know what? I think I’ll pop to the village shop and get some snacks for the drive home. Do you want to come with me, Adam?”
“Um…” He looks at me and I nod. He clearly has no idea what’s going on, but Dee does. The village shop: hub of all the local news and gossip.
After he comes back through with the list of names, Mr. Garner waits until the front door closes, and we see Dee and Adam walking back down the hill before he speaks again.
“How are you, Hanna? Really? You look tired.”
I smile. “I’m okay, Mr. Garner. There’s some stuff going on at the moment, but I promise I haven’t fallen back into my old ways. I don’t even drink these days—I’m holding down a good job, I have a mortgage, a bank account in credit. I’m a positive saint compared to the bad old me.”
He laughs. “You were never bad, Hanna.”
“Try telling my dad that.”
He sighs. “I’m sorry I could never help more. I’m sorry he never listened to me when I tried…”
I shake my head. “No—don’t. None of what happened was your fault. I’m the one who’s sorry. You should never have been caught up in it.”
He smiles. “It was my job, Hanna. My vocation. Even if we hadn’t been acquainted, I would have wanted to help you. You and Jacob.”
I flinch as he says his name.
I think he sees my reluctance to talk about Jacob in my face, because he changes the subject back to more general topics until the door slams and Dee and Adam come back in. I can see from Dee’s face they’ve found out something and it’s agony to sit and make small talk when I’m desperate to ask. But I won’t involve Mr. Garner, not again. Whatever he says, I am at least partly responsible for the way he was treated back then.
“Stephen Hayes is still hanging around,” Dee says as soon as we’ve said goodbye to Mr. Garner and started back down the hill. “When did he get so creepy? He stood and watched us go into the shop, waiting outside, staring through the window like we were there to shoplift the place.”
She sounds indignant. But Dee the good girl is tainted by association with me. She knows that. She was always outraged by it back then; you’d think she’d realize nothing will have changed, not here, not even all these years later. And besides, Stephen Hayes thinks he has good reason to treat me like trouble.
“Did you find out anything?” I ask.
“Not here,” she says, shaking her head. “Let’s get on the road and then I’ll tell you. This place is giving me the major creeps.”
“Still think it’s a pretty place, Adam?” I ask.
We turn the corner and lo and behold, there’s Stephen Hayes, standing in front of the village shop now, talking to Mrs. Thorpe. They both follow our progress as we walk back to the car, conversation on pause as we all get in and Dee does a three-point turn. I smile and wave as we pass them, blowing Stephen a kiss and getting a scowl in return.
Dee shakes her head. “You’re such a juve,” she says.
I shrug. “I would have given him the finger, but I thought he might use it as an excuse to arrest me. Bet he’s dying to arrest me.” I pause. “But don’t head back to the motorway yet, Dee—there’s a couple of other people I want to try to track down before we leave. Can we go into West Dean?” I get the list Mr. Garner gave me out of my pocket.
We drive in silence for a while and I only relax when we’re out of the village, on the road leading to West Dean.
“So, go on, then,” I say. “Hit me with it—what terrible scandal has someone in the Carter family been caught up in this time.”
“Actually, Mrs. Thorpe seemed most put out that she didn’t have the goss. But, apparently, they weren’t supposed to move until January.”
“And…?”
“In the end, they just… up and went. Overnight. Right after Christmas—no notice, nothing. Your stepmum was meant to be hosting her book club New Year meet-up and the first anyone knew about them leaving was when people turned up and found the house empty.”
“They did a midnight flit? Seriously? But why?”
The car has slowed down, and Dee is signaling, pulling off at the turn for West Dean. She stops in the station car park and turns to me. “You should call DC Norton. This could be nothing but village gossip, Mrs. Thorpe could be exaggerating, but…” She hesitates. “But if something happened to scare them off…”
They ran away. My family ran away. Something happened to make them run away… Or someone was chasing them.
Chapter 16
SASHA—November, three months earlier
They’re waiting just inside the school gates. I was stupid to think the party might have made them forget about me and my Friday meltdown. They’re all looking studiously away as I get out of the car, but I know they’re waiting for me. I wish I could jump back in the car, beg Dad to take me away, but then I’d have to explain why, and he wouldn’t care that Seren and Carly and their minions are potentially waiting to beat me up, he’d only care about the fact that I Got Into Trouble at school, that I got sent to the office. He’d look at me, but he’d see Hanna. He’d go into panic mode, haul me in, harangue Miss Jennings, either demanding more punishment to Teach Me A Lesson or going into full-on blame-the-school mode.
So, instead, I square my shoulders, force a smile, and step away from the car, hoping he’ll wait and watch until I’m safely inside the building. But of course, he doesn’t. He’s delivered me to school and because I’m not Hanna, he doesn’t need to check I actually enter the premises because I’m the good girl, I’ve never skipped school in my life.
The moment he drives off, Seren and the others move as a pack to block the gate.
“If you stop me going in and I’m late, they’ll phone my dad and he’ll come straight back,” I say, staring at Seren, summoning my inner Hanna, determined not to blink first, even if all I’m doing is threatening to tell my dad on them.
“You got me in trouble,” Seren says. “My mum canceled my party because of you.”
Oh crap.
She makes a move toward me and I can’t help it, I step back. Carly and Dylan, henchman one and henchman two, laugh.
“I don’t need to beat the shit out of you,” Seren whispers, her face inches from mine so I can smell the mint from her gum on her breath. “I can think of much better ways to get you back.”
She shoulder-shoves me and then spins and walks off, her gang trailing behind. I’m getting stared at as the other kids arrive, forced to walk around me as I stand frozen, right in front of the gate. I grit my teeth and carry on trying not to blink. I think if I blink I might cry and then they’ll really stare.
I spend the day in full avoidance mode—even eating my sandwiches hiding in the toilets. Classes are easier, they don’t dare try anything with the teachers there and I can tune out the whispered threats and insults. My biggest fear isn’t whatever Seren’s got in mind that’s worse than beating me up; no, my biggest fear is that if it is one of them sending the Facebook messages, they’ll go ahead and tell my dad. Yeah, my fear is that they’ll get to the station and my dad’s car before I do with a load of printed-out screenshots of my alter ego’s Facebook timeline and webcam footage of me in my pajamas.
If I had a phone, I could call him or text to ask him to meet me somewhere else after school. If I had a phone, I could call Hanna. I know we’re not close, but she’s certainly got experience of being in trouble and I bet she could help. But I can’t exactly call her from the landline at home, can I? We have one stupid phone that’s a hundred years old—it still has a wire, it’s not even cordless. And even if I could somehow get hold of Mum or Dad’s mobiles, Hanna would never take a call if she saw their numbers come up.
I’m in such a state I feel genuinely ill by the time I go back to lessons after lunch, my cheese sandwiches sitting like a leaden lump in my stomach. I’ll probably be sick. Chunks of cheese and bread spraying all over the class, probably all over Seren or Carly because of course I would, that’s my current luck. I can feel sweat on my forehead, but I actually feel cold and my heart is pounding really hard. I’m clammy like I’m coming down with flu or something. I rest my head in my hands and try to focus on my work.
“Sasha—are you okay?” It sounds like Mr. Hillier is asking the question from a thousand miles away, but I manage to look up.
“Actually, I feel really sick. And faint.”
There’s a hiss from behind me—they think I’m faking to get away from them. I’m tempted to turn around and stop swallowing back the rising bile and just projectile vomit all over them.
By the time Dad arrives to pick me up, I’m already feeling better, the tightness in my chest looser, my stomach calmer. Not flu or a stomach bug, just panic and anxiety. I’m sent straight up to my room as soon as we get home. Dad doesn’t even pretend it’s because of concern for my health. He hates illness, sees it as weakness, and he’s angry at me for missing lessons. He doesn’t actually say that, of course, but it was pretty obvious by his silence on the drive home. I don’t care, though. I spent the journey with my head resting against the window and my eyes closed, and I’m glad to be banished to my room. It doesn’t even feel like a punishment; it’s a relief. The only miserable thing about it is unless I really do physically throw up everywhere, I’ll be straight back to school tomorrow morning.
I kick off my shoes and throw myself onto the bed. My stomach is still somersaulting, but I don’t feel like I’m going to be sick anymore. But what about tomorrow? The door opens and Dad walks in. It’s another subtle punishment, the lack of a courtesy knock. I wonder if he sees this as a different sort of illness—the start of me turning into Hanna, skipping school, faking illness.
“I’m taking your mother out to M&S to do some shopping and go for dinner,” he says. “I’d planned for us all to go, but as you’re ill, you’ll have to stay at home. There’s soup in the cupboard if your stomach settles.”
I stay staring at the ceiling. Dad never goes with Mum to Marks & Spencer and we never go out to dinner. And it certainly wasn’t planned—I could smell something cooking in the oven when I came in. But this additional punishment is even more of a relief. It would have been difficult to pretend all was fine, that it was just something physical, if I was sitting around a dinner table with him and Mum, here or out in a restaurant.
“We’ll call you. From the restaurant. To check you’re okay,” he continues, and I hide a smile. Just making sure I don’t sneak out. Even after fourteen years of me not once stepping out of line, he’s still worried that any minute I’ll turn into Hanna.
I lie on my bed, listening to them moving around downstairs, getting ready in a hurry. I hear the door slam, the key in the lock, Dad’s car starting up and driving off. I count to one hundred, just to make sure, then I get up. I have homework, but I’m too restless to settle to that. It’s ironic that my parents have gone out for the first time in forever and I have free access to Dad’s computer just when going on the internet is the last thing in the world I want to do.
