The Night They Vanished, page 24
I should feel relieved. I suppose I do, a bit. But him turning up, knowing all this stuff about me that I haven’t told him…
“And what about Owen? Why does he hate my dad so much?” I ask.
Ethan sighs. “It’s nothing personal. Not really. I don’t think he was keen on the way your dad talked to him like he was a servant, when he’s probably more successful and earns way more money.”
“My dad treats everyone like that.”
“I noticed.” He pauses. “Plus, he never liked your sister when they were kids.”
I bite my lip. “It’s not because they went out and she dumped him or something, is it? An angry ex thing?”
Ethan frowns and gives me an odd look. “Don’t think so. He said she caused trouble between him and his mates. It was nothing, though. We used to spot you, following us round the holiday park—he just said I should chat you up because it would wind up your dad. He said it as a joke, really. I didn’t do it, obviously. But I liked you. We got chatting and I liked you. And it’s like I said in my texts: I was angry with someone else and I took it out on you. I made it sound worse than it was.” He stops and looks over at me. “So, what’s the new town like, then? Is everything else the same? Better? Worse?”
“Worse,” I say, looking away from him, out of the window. “Starting a new school midway through the year is a nightmare. I hate everyone there and they all hate me. And my dad’s not speaking to me.”
“And you still haven’t heard from your sister? She still doesn’t know you’ve moved?”
I shake my head.
He sighs. “Your sister’s caused you a lot of shit, hasn’t she?”
Why does he keep bringing it back to Hanna? And is it really all her fault? We were moving anyway. Because of Dad and what he did. Hanna didn’t make him have an affair, did she? Even if we hadn’t done that ridiculous moonlight flit, I’d still be here, wouldn’t I? I still don’t know one hundred percent that it was her sending those messages, but…
“Well, you’ll be pleased to know I’ve been a busy boy,” Ethan says.
I look back at him. “Are you still working for Owen?” I’m pleased Dad didn’t get him into trouble.
“Well, yeah, but that’s not what I meant. I meant I was busy with our plan.”
I wince. I’d forgotten my angry agreement to his suggestions.
“I’ve been in full-on stealth mode, spending some time in Cardiff over the holidays and in the last few weeks. I’ll tell you what, Sash, your sister’s friends are very gullible. I even managed to swing an invite to the New Year party she was at.”
“You went to a party with Hanna?”
“Don’t worry—she didn’t see me.” He pauses. “But I saw her.”
I think of my own New Year, spent alone in my room in our crappy new house, and how many times I’ve dreamed about spending Christmas or New Year with Hanna and how I didn’t even get a text from her, but Ethan was in the same room. But… It’s kind of creepy, actually, isn’t it? Not something to be jealous about at all—Ethan being in the same room as Hanna, watching her without her even knowing…
“Listen, Ethan, I was angry before, when I agreed we should get Hanna back, but I kind of… I don’t want to anymore. I don’t want to be that person. I don’t want anyone to be as scared of some anonymous messages as I was. It just makes me as bad as her, doesn’t it? And also, she’s not bad, she’s not. Will you leave it? Please?”
My heart is pounding so hard as I wait an eternity for him to answer. We’re well out of town, on a quiet country road. This is the quickest way to the holiday park, but it’s not the same route the school bus takes, so if he stopped and kicked me out of the car, or I jumped out when he slowed, I’d be stuck in the middle of nowhere.
“I don’t think you know her at all,” he says.
“What does that mean?”
“Owen told me all about her. She used to be with a friend of his and she treated him very badly.”
He looks at me again and is it my imagination or has the car slowed down? There are dark wooded areas on both sides of the road, huge trees stretching up and over the car.
“She ruined his life,” he says.
“Who was it? When did this happen? Why didn’t you ever say anything? And how do you know it’s true, anyway? Owen could have been messing with you.”
Oh God, Owen’s got some decades-old resentment against Hanna and I gave Ethan her phone number. I told him where she lived and where she worked. He’s even hanging round at the same parties, getting Owen’s revenge for him. Whatever he’s done, I’m an accomplice.
“What happened to Owen’s friend? How did she ruin his life?” I ask again. Maybe it’s not Owen who’s my birth dad, maybe it’s Owen’s friend and that’s why Owen is still mad at Hanna.
There’s another silence, but the car speeds up again, so I’m able to relax the tiniest bit.
“He’s dead.”
I let out a shaky breath. “But that’s not Hanna’s fault, right? She wouldn’t have—”
“Oh, she is entirely responsible. Owen told me the whole story. She may not have physically killed him, but she is one hundred percent responsible for his death.”
We turn the corner and there’s the main gates for the holiday park. Ethan pulls up at the side of the road, not driving close enough to be spotted from the house.
“You asked me to leave it,” he says, putting the handbrake on but not turning the engine off. “You asked me to leave your sister alone, but I’m sorry… I can’t.”
My insides turn to liquid.
“I won’t ask you to be involved, but I will remind you that it was you who set this in motion, so don’t even think about telling your parents or the police or anyone. Because you’d be in as much trouble as me.”
I think I might be sick, really, really sick. All over him, all over his car. “What have you done?”
“Don’t think she’s the innocent in this—I’ve met her most recent ex, and she’s basically been stalking him.” He smiles. “Don’t look so scared, Sash. I haven’t done anything. I’m a computer guy, not a murderer. I’m just planning on messing with her a bit, that’s all.” He pauses and laughs. “I’ve got an idea that will really mess with her head, though. More so now that you’ve told me she doesn’t even know you’ve moved… It’s what she deserves. Owen’s done a lot for me and I owe him this.”
I’m not reassured, not at all, especially not when the two extremes he mentioned were messing with her on a computer or murder. Everything that’s happened to me in the last couple of months was the result of someone messing with me via a computer. And I’m no longer sure that it ever was Hanna sending me those messages. I only have Ethan’s word that they could be traced back to her phone number, the number I gave him in the first place.
And I don’t know enough about all this tech stuff—if I texted Hanna to warn her, if she even read my message, would he be able to see that, somehow?
Oh God, what have I done?
“You’d better go,” Ethan says. “Before your dad catches you with me. I’ll text you. You’re on half-term now, aren’t you? I might want to see you again.”
I go to get out of the car. We’re going away tomorrow for a few days—should I tell him or keep quiet? I don’t want to annoy him when he’s in this weird mood… maybe I’ll wait and tell him after we’ve left. But if me not being around makes him angry… he knows where I live, where I go to school. He could get me in so much trouble. I chew on my lip. Maybe if I tell him… He said he liked me. He went against Owen over that, over me, didn’t he?
“Ethan, please…” I say. “Please leave her alone. I don’t know what she did—or what she’s supposed to have done—but she’s… she’s more than just my sister.”
I pause and take a deep, shaky breath. “She’s my mother.”
The silence stretches out so long, I wish I could take the words back. When I risk a glance at him, it’s like he’s frozen, his hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead.
“I never knew Hanna was my mother, not until recently,” I say, the words tumbling out to fill the horrible silence. “I thought she was my sister, that’s all. And… I’m still mad at her, but I don’t want her hurt…”
“Who’s your father?” he says eventually.
“I don’t know,” I mutter and risk another glance. He’s staring at me now and the look on his face… the rage…
“Give me your phone.”
I fumble the phone out of my pocket and hand it to him. It’s almost a relief to be rid of it.
“Get out. Get the fuck out,” he says.
When I walk into the house, everything must be showing on my face, because Mum looks instantly concerned when she comes out of the kitchen to greet me.
“Honey, are you okay?” she says, putting her hand on my forehead. “You look really pale.”
“I’ve got a terrible headache,” I say, and I can’t stop the tears coming to my eyes as she puts her arm around my shoulders and leads me into the kitchen, rummaging in a drawer for a box of pain reliever.
“Oh, I hope you’re not coming down with anything so close to our holiday,” she says, filling a glass with water and putting a pill in my hand. “There’s so many horrible bugs around at this time of year.”
“I’m okay,” I manage to say. The pill sticks for a moment as I struggle to swallow past the lump in my throat. “I might just go and lie down for a bit until the painkillers kick in.”
I lie on my bed and close my eyes when I get upstairs, but I can’t close off the thoughts that are whirling around in my head. I’ve made things worse. I shouldn’t have said anything. The look on his face… And he can’t be right. Owen must have been lying to him. There’s no way Hanna could have caused anyone’s death, is there? He didn’t answer my questions about who or when—is he talking recently, or years ago? And what could have happened? Did she give him drugs and make him overdose? Run him over? Feed him peanut butter when he was allergic?
As I try to process it all, I realize how much I don’t know. I have no idea how long Ethan has been in prison for. I have no idea who Hanna went out with, who the candidates are for my father other than horrible Owen King—I couldn’t name a single one of her boyfriends. I don’t even know the real reasons she left home and left me behind. All I know is she got into a lot of trouble, that she used to drink and smoke and sneak out. But no one’s ever told me if there was a definitive reason for her leaving and not really being welcome back… like someone dying?
There’s a knock at my door and I sit up, just as Dad walks in.
“Your mother said you were ill.”
It’s the first time he’s initiated conversation with me since Christmas.
“It’s a headache, that’s all.”
He nods and turns as if to leave but I call him back.
“Dad? I really am sorry. For everything. But I promise—I really didn’t do anything with Ethan. I wouldn’t.”
He sighs and answers without turning back to look at me. “I realize that. You’re not like Hanna.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me… that you adopted me from Hanna?” I can’t call her my mother in front of Dad.
“It would have been too complicated,” he says after a long silence. “Adopted children don’t have their birth mothers walking in and out of their lives on a regular basis. They need stability and security. You needed stability and security.”
“What did she do? What did she do that was so bad? Was it just because she got pregnant and had me? It can’t have just been sneaking out and drinking… God, half the kids in my year have been doing that since they were thirteen.”
Dad has his hand on the door, but he lets it drop and turns back to face me. “Of course it was more than that. It wasn’t just drinking. It was drugs. Even while she was pregnant. When she knew she was pregnant. She stole money from us—she was violent toward your mother. She never accepted Jen, she was constantly hostile. It was a relief when she left. I’m sorry to have to say that about my own daughter, but it was. We gave her money, so we knew she wasn’t living on the streets.”
“She was violent to Mum?”
“Your mother tried to stop her leaving the house once and yes, she lashed out. Pushed your mother over, left her bruised and, frankly, scared.”
Oh God, this is the rebellious, cool Hanna I used to hero-worship? Someone worse than all those bitchy girls from my old school, someone worse than all the dicks on the school bus.
“If she hadn’t left, we would have asked social services to have her removed.” He pauses. “And it worked. She turned her own life around, it seems. She has a job, a home, a life. Would she have done that if she’d stayed here? I don’t know.”
He looks down at me. “We will try to be a little less strict with you. But remember this conversation, remember why we do this—to keep you from making the same mistakes. To protect you.”
I do understand, I do, but there’s still that little voice that keeps piping up, asking, wondering: if they’d been less strict with Hanna, would she have ever rebelled in such a spectacular way?
But it doesn’t matter now. Everything Dad has told me, everything Ethan told me, everything he’s done—I’m not going to be doing any kind of rebelling.
I don’t want to be anything like Hanna.
Chapter 36
Thedarktourist.com
HANNA—Tuesday 1 p.m.
We don’t even make it halfway home before DC Norton calls. “Can you come back? He’s put something new up on the Dark Tourist website.”
I turn to Adam, but he obviously heard as he’s already moving into the right-hand lane as we approach a roundabout, ready to go back toward the police station. The volume of traffic makes our progress through the city agonizingly slow and I’m ready to scream by the time we find a parking space that’s not too many millions of miles from the police station.
I’m half-running down the street, two paces behind Adam, when my blast from the past literally plows into me. I stagger, a very British apology already on my lips even though he ran into me, but the words die before they come out when I look up and it’s Owen King in front of me, walking away from the police station as fast as I’m walking toward it.
I recognize him straight away, just as I did Lee. It bothers me, how little we’ve all changed, when so much in our lives has. We should look different too. I shouldn’t see that flood of shocked recognition in his face, even when I know it’s reflected in my own.
And I shouldn’t have to see the way shock dissolves into disgust and anger, when it’s him doing all this, not me.
“You should be in handcuffs,” he says, and I stare at him in disbelief.
“Me in handcuffs? Where is my family, Owen? What the hell have you done? Where’s Sasha?”
“I have no idea. You should try keeping better track of your family rather than getting me hauled in here for no reason. But then you never gave a shit about family or friends, did you?”
Adam looks ready to step in as Owen moves closer to me, but I don’t look anywhere but at Owen as I put my hand on his chest and push him away.
“It’s been fifteen years, Owen, for God’s sake. Fifteen years.”
“What—you think I’ve wasted a second thinking about you all these years? You think I want to be here? Questioned by the police, my van taken away, letting clients down, losing business because of you?” He glances back at Adam before turning to me again. “You and your friend here, his little article. The fucking lies about Jacob. If you want to know what’s got me so fucking pissed off, then maybe reread that dirty lying crap. And know that whatever happens, it’s all your fault, you and your new boyfriend.”
I frown, looking between them. I didn’t want to read the article Adam wrote, didn’t want to read a version of my past laid bare for some voyeuristic dark tourism thing… but what did Adam say last night? About what he wrote? He said he wrote it with me as the victim. A child blamed by the town… He didn’t mention what he wrote about Jacob. But no. It’s rubbish. It’s Owen just being Owen.
“Do you know what, Owen King? Jacob used to say you were jealous, that’s why you were such a bastard to me. Because he used to be your best friend and you never wanted to share.”
“I was never jealous,” Owen says, cold and calm and loud. “You never stood a chance of coming between me, Lee, and Jacob by being his girlfriend. But I could see how destructive you were. And I was right, wasn’t I? You couldn’t have him all to yourself so you destroyed him. You destroyed his family. And then you got to just walk away.” He glances past me. “And there’s my ride, so I need to go and get my bloody van back.”
I turn and see Carrie behind the wheel of a black Mazda, double-parked a few yards away. It’s impulse that has me pushing past Owen, running toward the car, talking through her half-open window. “Carrie—please. Does he have them? Has he got Sasha?”
She ignores me, pushing the button to close her window.
“Please, Carrie. Sasha is fourteen. She’s a child.”
“Fuck off, Hanna,” Owen says as he gets into the passenger seat. “We haven’t done anything to your damned family.”
Carrie starts driving as soon as he’s in, leaving me a breathless mess on the pavement.
Adam comes over, touches my shoulder. Has it really been less than a week since our blind date? It feels more like a year and I feel ten years older. I stand next to him, shoulders hunched as I wait for the questions. He thinks he already knows. But he has to be wondering—all that hostility from Owen, from Lee and Stephen.
“I know it wasn’t your fault,” Adam says. “Jacob’s death.”
I look down at the pavement and in my mind, all I can hear is Jacob’s voice the last time I spoke to him: his one call and he made it to me… the anguish, the desperation. I can’t… I can’t bear it. Even now, it’s so raw. I should have done more. I should have done something.
“Yes, it was,” I say, shrugging away the hand on my shoulder and turning to walk back toward the police station. “Owen’s right. It was my fault.”
