Girl, Missing (12 page)

With a crunch of the gears, Glane stopped the truck. As he switched off the engine there was this deafening silence. Blood pounded in my ears.

‘We are here,' Glane said.

I sat glued to my seat as Glane opened the door and got out. He stepped back. Somehow I made my legs move as I followed him onto the pavement, my eyes on the house opposite.

It was big – far bigger than our house at home, with a large, neatly mown front lawn. The trees on either side of the grass were golden-leafed, almost glittering in the bright, hard sunshine.

I stood, my hands shaking, staring at the brick path that led up to the front door.

Jam got out of the truck. He came and stood beside me.

‘Lauren?'

‘I can't do this,' I whimpered. I took a step back to the truck. ‘I can't.'

‘You want to leave?' Glane said. ‘Shall we call your parents? The police?'

‘No.' I couldn't back out now. This was what I wanted, wasn't it? The chance to find out for myself whether I was Martha Lauren Purditt. To meet my real mother. In my own way.

I was probably wrong anyway. I would get there and it would be obvious the missing girl wasn't me.

Oh God
.

My whole body trembled.

Jam put his hand on my arm. ‘Do you want us to come with you?' he said.

I shook my head. I didn't trust myself to speak. But I knew that I had to do this alone. I took a step towards the brick path.

I felt Jam's fingers twist through mine and slide away. ‘Good luck, Lazerbrain,' he whispered.

I smiled at him, then turned and walked towards the house.

PART TWO

FINDING LAUREN

21

Inside

A girl opened the door. She was about my height, but maybe a bit younger than me, with long, dyed blonde hair that hung dead straight past her shoulders. I searched her face, desperate for any sign of family resemblance.

She looked at me suspiciously. ‘Can I help you?'

‘I . . . I . . .' Now I was here, I realised I had absolutely no idea what to say. My legs felt like jelly.

The girl's eyes narrowed. ‘What do you want?' she said.

For a second I thought I was going to throw up. It took all my strength just to speak: ‘I'm looking for Mrs Purditt,' I said. ‘Martha's mother.'

The girl frowned.

‘It's Martha I've come about,' I said, wondering for one horrible moment whether I'd even got the right house. ‘She went missing a . . . a long time ago.'

For a second the girl looked shocked. Then the surprise in her eyes morphed into contempt.

‘Who put you up to this?' she said. ‘Was it Amy Brighthouse?'

I blinked, utterly bewildered.

‘Who is it, Shelby?' a woman's voice called from the house.

‘Go away,' hissed the girl. ‘What you're doing is sick. It's so totally uncool I can't believe it.'

She pushed me backwards along the path, then stepped outside the house, pulling the door to behind her. I stared at her. What was she talking about? The girl shoved me in the chest. Hard. I stumbled backwards again.

Behind her, the front door opened. A middleaged woman with short, flicky black hair appeared in the doorway.

It took me a few seconds to register who she must be.

The woman smiled at me, but her eyes were dull and sad.

I stared at her face.
It can't be you. It can't be
.

‘Hello?' she said. ‘Are you one of Shelby's friends?'

‘No, Mom. She's here on some sicko dare.'

I barely heard them. Tears filled my eyes. The woman in front of me might have been beautiful once, but now there were deep lines carved across her forehead and her skin was sallow and saggy.

This couldn't be my mother.

My mother didn't have pain etched across her face.

The woman looked puzzled. ‘Who are you?'

She doesn't know me. She doesn't recognise me
.

Both of them were frowning at me now. The air crackled with tension.

There was nothing left but to say it. My voice sounded flat and distant, as if someone else was speaking.

‘I think I might be Martha.'

The words hung in the silence between us.

The woman's eyes widened. Her mouth fell open. ‘Martha?' she whispered. ‘My Martha?'

‘You total freak show.' Shelby pushed me again. But I didn't take my eyes off the woman. She stood back, opening the door wide behind her.

‘Come in,' she said.

‘No,' Shelby shrieked. ‘No way. Don't you see? She's doing it for a dare.'

Ignoring her, I followed the woman inside. I got a vague impression of an open space with polished wood cabinets and big, flowery sofas off to the left.

I was numb. It didn't feel real.

‘It's not her, Mom,' Shelby shouted, marching up to the woman and shaking her arm. ‘Mom? Oh for God's sake! I'm going to get Dad.' She ran out of the house.

The woman led me towards one of the sofas.

‘Sit down.'

I sat. The woman perched on the sofa opposite. It felt like her eyes were drinking me up.

I looked away, confused. It shouldn't be like this. If this
was my real mother, surely I would sense it somehow; feel some . . . some connection to her?

The woman bit her lip. ‘Do you remember me?'

‘I don't know,' I said. I looked down at my lap.

A long silence stretched out between us. In the end I glanced up. The woman was still staring at me.

‘What makes you think you're Martha?'

I told her everything that had happened from the day I found the missing poster of Martha on the internet.

As I explained how Sonia had abandoned us in the woods she came and sat next to me. ‘Poor baby,' she said.

She lifted her hand, as if she was going to stroke my hair off my face. I drew away, embarrassed.

A dull weight seemed to settle in my chest. This wasn't what I'd expected. I'd thought if I saw her I would know. For sure.

But I didn't. She was just a woman.

Angry voices sounded by the front door. I stood up.

Shelby ran into the room. A little girl – a bit younger than Rory, I guessed – was beside her. Then three middleaged men strode in – they were all wearing chinos and check shirts, just like the people I'd seen in the Evanport shops. There were too many faces to take in. I looked from one to the other, bewildered.

‘Is that her?' The tallest of the men stepped over to me. He gripped my shoulder. There was something almost
desperate in his eyes. ‘Who are you?' He shook my arm. ‘What are you doing here?'

The woman put her hand over his. ‘It's Martha, Sam,' she breathed. ‘I really think it is.'

At her words pandemonium broke out. Everyone in the room started talking at once. The man began shouting at the woman, completely ignoring me.

‘This isn't her, Annie. She's not just going to walk in—'

‘It is. She has.' Annie burst into tears. ‘Don't you see, sh—'

‘Stop it.' The man's voice rose to a terrible roar. ‘Stop it. Stop it. I can't take you doing this any more.'

Annie clutched at the man's arm. ‘Listen to me,' she sobbed. ‘Calm down, Sam, please.'

I glanced round the room. Shelby and the other men were all talking at the tops of their voices by the door. The only person who wasn't speaking was the little girl. She stared at me, open-mouthed from behind the sofa.

My heart was hammering like mad. Whatever I'd imagined finding my real family would be like, it wasn't like this. I didn't want to be here any more. But my legs felt rooted to the spot.

The argument between the man and Annie grew more hysterical.

She was almost on her knees, pleading with him: ‘Look at her, look at her, she looks just like you.'

The man didn't seem to hear her: ‘I can't take this, Annie,' he kept saying, his face twisted in agony. ‘You have to let go.'

‘Please stop shouting,' I said. But the words were drowned in the noise around me.

And then a deep voice boomed over all the others. ‘QUIET.'

Everyone spun round. Glane was standing in the doorway, his huge presence dominating the room.

Shocked silence.

Before anyone had a chance to ask him who he was or what he was doing there, Glane smiled.

‘I think perhaps everyone should be calm and listen to Lauren.'

22

Confession

I was at Evanport police station.

Glane had gone. Jam had gone. All the Purditts had gone.

I'd been talking to an FBI agent for the last two hours.

MJ Johnson was tall with a long, horsey face. I liked her. She'd listened carefully to everything I'd told her and asked lots of questions in a sympathetic drawl.

She'd gone away for a bit, then come back to tell me that Taylor Tarsen had been taken in for questioning and that my description of Sonia Holtwood was being circulated to local law enforcement across the north-east of America.

I knew this was good news. But my mind was still on my meeting with the Purditts. I kept trying to match the sad-eyed Annie Purditt I'd met today, with the angel-faced woman in my dream memory. Were they really the same person?

‘Lauren?'

I looked up. MJ stretched out her long legs. ‘You need
to understand,' she said. ‘There's two separate issues here. This whole business of you maybe being stolen from your birth family when you were little. That's one. But then there's also what Tarsen and Sonia Holtwood planned to do to you and your friend. Those are two separate crimes. Two different, but overlapping investigations.'

‘So what's going to happen next?'

‘You mean to you?' MJ stood up.

I nodded.

‘Your parents'll be here real soon,' she said vaguely. We'll take it from there.'

She left me on my own again. I curled up in my chair and laid my head on my arm.

The seconds on the clock in the room ticked by.

I hadn't told MJ that I was sure Mum and Dad knew about me being kidnapped as a little girl. I could barely think about it myself. I certainly wasn't ready to see them.

I needed time to think about what had happened with the Purditts. I must have been wrong about them. I must have. Surely, if Annie was really my mother, I would have felt something more when I saw her.

I closed my eyes. Tears prickled at the lids. The only person I wanted to see right now was Jam. If my questioning was over for now, maybe his would be soon.

The door opened. I jerked upright, hoping it would be him.

Mum and Dad stood in the doorway.

My mouth fell open. Dad looked as if he'd aged ten years. As for Mum – her face was grey and she seemed bonier than ever. Her jumper hung limply from her shoulders.

For a second they just looked at me. And then, somehow, Mum had crossed the room and was beside me, half shaking me, half pulling me into this hug.

I stood there – stiff and awkward.

Mum's tears splashed onto my neck.

‘Oh, Lauren, you stupid, stupid . . . Thank God you're all right.'

She drew back slightly, her hands still on my shoulders. Her eyes sought out mine – fearful, questioning.

Dad moved closer but still stood, his arms folded, staring at me. He looked furious.

Everything had changed. I knew it in that instant. Nothing could ever be the same between us, again.

‘Do you have any idea what you've done?' Mum whispered.

I stared at her. What
I'd
done?

‘I had to know the truth,' I said.

Dad gave this low growl. I looked at him again. There were dark rings under his eyes and his cheeks were flat and pale.

Mum pulled me down onto one of the chairs. ‘We didn't
tell you because we didn't want you to be hurt,' she said. ‘We would have told you more when you were ready.'

She still didn't get it. She still didn't realise I knew
.

‘And just when did you think I would be ready to hear that you'd stolen me away from my real family?'

Mum looked as if I'd slapped her. ‘What?'

I stared at her, disgusted. ‘Don't lie to me, I know about Sonia Holtwood, remem—'

‘We didn't take you from another family.' Mum's voice cracked like a whip. ‘We adopted you properly, officially.'

Hate boiled up in my heart. I loathed her. I loathed them both.

‘I know about Sonia stealing me,' I screamed. ‘I know you did too.'

Mum's forehead was creased with frowns. ‘No, Lauren, you've got it wrong.'

I jammed my hands over my ears. I couldn't bear to listen to any more of her lies. Mum pulled at my arms.

‘MJ told us what you said, but you have to believe us, we thought you were Sonia's child.'

‘So why did you pay her loads of money for me?' I yelled.

Mum blinked at me, her face now chalk-white.

‘Come on,' I shrieked. ‘You said we'd talk later. Well it
is
later. And we
are
talking. So tell me.'

Mum covered her face with her hands. Dad sat down
opposite us. He still hadn't touched me. Still hadn't said a word.

‘Well, Dad?' Tears were spilling down my cheeks. ‘You gonna lie to me too?'

He leaned forward and took Mum's hands away from her face.

‘Lauren needs to know the whole story.'

Mum gasped. ‘But …'

Dad shushed her with a squeeze of his hand. He turned to me, his jaw clenched.

‘I think it's time you saw this situation from somebody else's point of view, Lauren.'

I glared at him.

‘We've often told you how much we wanted you. How special you were to us.' Dad took a deep breath. ‘But there are lots of things you don't know.'

He sounded like a different person. His red-cheeked, bumbling self was gone. In its place was this stranger – icy and calm.

‘We spent ten years trying to have a baby, Lauren. Eight full IVF cycles and countless other failed attempts. We tried everything. You will never have any idea of what we went through. What your mother went through.' He paused. ‘In the end she had a breakdown.'