Girl, Missing (2 page)

If that
was
me, I wasn't who I thought I was. I had a different name. A different nationality. Even a different birthday. None of the facts of my life were certain.

‘What are you doing?' Jam was staring at me from the doorway, a puzzled expression on his face.

‘Nothing.' I quickly minimised the screen.

I was being ridiculous. The whole thing was too bizarre. Jam would laugh at me if I told him – tell me to beam back up to planet Egotrip or something. And yet I wanted to show him. I wanted to know what he thought.

‘Don't give me that.' Jam narrowed his eyes. ‘You've been freaking out since I got here. All that crap with the photo albums. You just wanted me out of this room.'

‘No I didn't, Jam.' I tried to smile. ‘It was just this weird – thing …' I tailed off.

Jam walked over to the computer. ‘What kind of weird thing?' He grinned, but the grin didn't quite reach his eyes. ‘Like some weird guy asking you out? What did you say?'

‘What? No. Ew. No way.'What was Jam going on about? He knew I was, like, totally uninterested in dating and boys and all that stuff.

‘Then why … ?' Jam's eyes focused on the minimiser lozenge at the bottom of the screen. ‘Why are you looking at a missing children site?'

‘Promise you won't laugh?'

He nodded. I clicked on the minimiser lozenge. Martha Lauren Purditt appeared on the screen. Jam glanced from her to the photograph of me on the desk beside the computer.

He frowned. ‘What?' His eyes widened. ‘You don't think that's you, do you?'

I looked away, my cheeks burning. ‘I don't know,' I whispered.

I looked up. Jam was clicking on a link marked:
age-progressed photograph
.

‘Wait,' I cried out.

But it was too late. A new picture was on the screen, showing Martha Lauren Purditt as she might appear now. I didn't want to look at it and yet I couldn't stop myself.

It was me. But at the same time, it wasn't. The face was too long and the nose too cutesy and turned-up looking.

‘Mmmn,' Jam said. ‘It's hard to say, isn't it? I mean it looks a bit like you. But …'

My heart was beating fast. OK, so he wasn't any more certain than I had been. But at least he wasn't laughing at me.

I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.

Without looking at me, Jam clicked back to the first picture and pressed the print icon.

As the printer spewed out the page, Jam held it up to show me. ‘It's like a “missing” poster,' he said. ‘And look – there's a phone number at the bottom here. Maybe you should call up and—'

‘No. No way.' I jumped up and tore the paper out of his hand. This was all moving too fast. Jam was being too practical. Too logical about everything. ‘I need time to think,' I said.

‘Chill out, Lazerbrain.' Jam rolled his eyes – like he does when his mum and sisters start screaming at each other. ‘I was only trying to help. Don't you want to find out if that's really you?'

‘Maybe.' I shrugged. The truth was that I didn't know. I didn't know anything any more.

‘I guess your mum and dad might be able to tell.' Jam put his head to one side and studied the picture.

‘I'm not showing them,' I gasped.

‘Yeah. S'probably not a good idea, anyway.'

‘What d'you mean?'

‘Well.' Jam hesitated. ‘If that Martha Lauren girl is you, how d'you think it happened? I mean, back then when you were three, how did you go from being in America in September to being in London by Christmas?'

I shook my head. Trust Jam to start asking all the practical questions. I couldn't even get my head around the idea that I might be a completely different person.

‘Think about it, Lazerbrain,' Jam smiled weakly. ‘Children don't just vanish for no reason. You must have been taken deliberately.'

‘What's that got to do with my mum and dad?' I asked.

Jam took a deep breath. ‘I think you have to consider the possibility that your parents were somehow involved.'

3

The secret

I was sure Jam was wrong. Mum and Dad are interfering. And annoying. And old. But there's no way they could have done anything as illegal and wrong as kidnapping a little girl.

Still. When someone plants an idea in your head, it stays there. You can't unthink it.

Was I Martha Lauren Purditt?

I thought about it all the time. I kept the ‘missing' poster Jam had printed out under my mattress. I took it out every night and read it over and over until I knew every line of that little girl's face. Every date and detail about her life. Not that there was much to go on.

Several times I picked up the phone to call the number at the bottom of the poster. But I never had the guts to make the call. What was I going to say?
Hi there. I think I might be a missing girl on your website, only with a different birthday and a different first name – oh, and from a different country
.

They'd laugh at me. So would the police.

A week went past. Jam swore he wouldn't tell anyone. It was our secret. But it burned inside me like one of those trick birthday candles you can't blow out.

And then – by accident – I learned something that changed everything for ever …

Dad has a bit of a routine when he gets in from work. He doesn't like anyone to speak to him while he changes and pours himself a drink. Then he and Mum have dinner before Dad falls asleep watching TV.

They're always nagging me to eat with them. Mostly it's the last thing I want to do, but it shuts Mum up. And it massively annoys Rory, who has to go to bed before we eat.

That night, Rory appeared in the doorway just as Mum was putting a big casserole dish down on the table.

‘Mum, I'm still hungry,' he whined.

Dad rolled his eyes. He gets well narked with Rory's attention-seeking ways. I could see him building up to saying something. (He doesn't exactly operate at the speed of light, my dad.)

But Mum – so strict when it comes to
my
bedtimes – had already taken Rory's side.

‘I can't let him go to sleep hungry, Dave.'

And before Dad could say anything, she'd grabbed the fruit bowl and was shushing Rory out the door.

Dad stared at the casserole dish as if he was hoping the stew inside would somehow leap out onto his plate.

‘She spoils that boy,' he muttered under his breath.

I grinned to myself. Dad's the supreme master of the blindingly obvious comment. He's an accountant – good with Maths homework but a bit slow when it comes to words.

Which is what made his next sentence so jaw-droppingly, outstandingly incredible.

‘Mum tells me you were asking about your … about when you were little,' he said.

I nearly choked on the slice of bread and butter I'd been stuffing into my mouth.

‘Well?' Dad had his serious face on. Not an easy one for him to pull off as he's short and bald with round, pink cheeks.

I could feel the heat creeping up round my neck. I looked away and nodded.

Dad cleared his throat. ‘I think …' he said. Long pause.

Come on, Dad. Before we both die of old age. Please
.

‘I think … that if you're old enough to ask—'

At that moment Mum reappeared. She took one look at my red face and I knew she knew what was going on.

‘Old enough to ask what?' she said.

Dad mumbled something totally incoherent. Mum put her hands on her hips.

‘I thought we agreed, Dave?' she said in a threatening voice.

The atmosphere in the room stretched out tight, like a Croydon facelift.

I pushed back my chair and stood up, my hands balled at my sides. If she was going to stop Dad from talking to me, she could forget about me eating her stupid stew.

‘Sit down, Lauren,' Mum snapped.

Anger surged up from my stomach. ‘No,' I shouted. ‘Who put you in charge? Why d'you always, always think you know what's best for everyone else?'

Mum's face clenched up.

‘Sit down and eat. Now.'

Tears of rage and frustration welled in my eyes. How dare she order me about like that – like a little kid. ‘I won't sit down,' I shouted. ‘You can't tell me what to do. You're not even my real mother.'

I ran out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind me. Tears streamed down my face as I raced through the hall, heading for the stairs and the small privacy of my own room.

Rory was sitting on the top step, munching on an apple.

‘Why's everyone shouting?' he said.

I stopped just below him and took a deep breath. My hands shook as I wiped my face. ‘Get out of my way,' I muttered.

‘Wanna see a Martian train wreck?' Rory opened his mouth and stuck out a tongue full of pale-green mush.

I closed my eyes. What had I done to deserve such an uncool family? I bet Martha Lauren Purditt's family weren't like this. I could just imagine them: understanding, glamorous mother; sensitive, fun-loving father; and not a brother or sister in sight.

The sound of Mum and Dad's angry voices drifted towards the stairs.

Rory shuffled down a couple of steps towards me. ‘Are Mum and Dad going to get divorced?' he said.

‘Yeah,' I snapped. ‘They're arguing over which one of them has to live with you afterwards.'

Rory stuck his tongue out at me again but didn't say anything. A few seconds later he stomped off to his room.

The shouting was getting louder, Mum's high-pitched shriek piercing through Dad's thundering rumble. And then I heard my own name. I walked back across the hall, trying to separate out what they were saying.

‘Stop shouting,' Mum was yelling. ‘This is your fault. You promised me—'

‘For Chrissakes!' Dad yelled back. ‘I'm only saying we can't ignore her asking about it.'

I'd never heard him sound so angry. I mean, they bicker all the time, but mostly about trivial stuff – like Dad working too hard. This was different.

I shivered, and crept closer to the kitchen door.

There was silence for a few seconds. Then Mum spoke again. Her voice was quieter now, almost pleading.

‘She's too young. Her head's still full of homework and … and … pop songs.'

Yeah, right, Mum – you know me so well
.

‘Then why's she so angry? Why's she been asking questions?' Dad said.

‘Some stupid school project got her started. But she'll lose interest.'

There was a pause.

‘You mean you hope she'll lose interest.'

There was a longer pause. Then I could hear Mum sniffing. Her voice sounded muffled.

‘If we tell her one thing, she'll want to hear the rest.'

Dad murmured something I couldn't catch.

‘I know, but not now,' Mum said. ‘When she's sixteen, I'll show her my diaries. That'll put it all in context for her.'

I heard footsteps coming towards the door and scurried away, up the stairs. My heart was beating fast. So much for all Mum's ‘closed adoption' crap. They
did
know something about my life before they got me.

My stomach twisted into a knot. What could it be that was so terrible they didn't think I could handle yet? Could it have anything to do with Martha Lauren Purditt?

I lay on my bed sure of only one thing. There was no way I could wait until I was sixteen to read Mum's diaries.

4

Marchfield

Break time the next day. Jam and I were out on the high street, buying our lunch. It's something school only lets you do once you get to Year Ten. Three weeks in and Mum's already complaining about my eating rubbish food – and spending too much money on it.

I told Jam about the diaries while we waited to order our pizza from the takeaway bar.

‘Why don't you just go and read them?' he said.

‘Because Mum keeps all her old stuff in these locked trunks up in our attic.'

A gust of wind whipped round my legs as a group of girls from another school tottered into the pizza bar. They stood in a cluster at the opposite end of the counter from us, giggling over a menu.

Jam ordered our usual – a ham and pineapple pizza with double extra pepperoni for me to pick off – then we sat down to wait on the metal bench in the corner.

‘Well, get the keys and go up there,' he said.

I stared at him. Jam always made everything sound so simple.

‘What about Mum?' I said. ‘I'll need someone to keep her out of the way for at least an hour.'

Jam frowned. ‘Doesn't she ever go out?'

‘Not much.' It was true. While Dad often doesn't get in until nine or so, Mum works from home and spends most weekends and evenings in her office too.

She isn't exactly a party animal.

After a few minutes Jam wandered over to the counter to see where our pizza was. While he waited, one of the girls from the other school went up to him. She was dead hard-looking, with spiky blonde hair and her school skirt hitched right up her legs.

‘My mate reckons you're really fit,' she said, jerking her thumb towards a short redhead on the edge of the group of girls.

I grinned as Jam blushed. He was always getting hit on by girls. I guess he is quite good-looking. Tall, with regular features and lovely smooth, golden skin.

The hard-faced blonde put her hand on her hip. ‘So d'you wanna go out with her? She's free tomorrow night,' she said. There was a burst of giggles from the group at the other end of the counter.

Jam was smiling, trying to be nice as he said no. He looked really embarrassed. The man approached with our pizza.

I stood up and took the box. Then I turned to the girl. ‘Sorry.' I touched Jam's arm. ‘But he's busy tomorrow night.'

I let go of Jam and swept out of the shop. There was a chorus of sarky ‘Ooooo's at my back. I smiled to myself again.