Now You See Me by Emma Haughton Page A

where we climbed, gazing into the murky rock pools, searching among the stones and pebbles.
    Nothing, nothing and more nothing. Nothing but seaweed and old plastic bottles, pieces of driftwood and the odd snarly stretch of nylon rope.
    The sky turned darker, the rain heavier. I huddled in the little cave beneath the cliff, waiting for it to subside. I got my diary out my rucksack. My pencil paused over the paper, then I wrote three words in capitals:
    WHERE ARE YOU?
    I rested my head against the cold, hard rock and tried to think, still haunted by Martha’s words.
    He must have said or done something.
    Was she right? Had I really missed things, not paid enough attention? I couldn’t get rid of the feeling that perhaps I held the missing piece that might bring Danny back, that if I just tried hard enough I could get him home and make everything all right.
    I sifted again through my memories of that afternoon, worn now, a bit tatty and frayed. Closing my eyes, I tried to conjure the feeling of being here in the sunshine, but it all seemed impossibly far away.
    Only…something shifted and caught at the edge of my mind. Danny sitting over on the flat rocks, watching me mess with the limpets. I’d turned and seen he was on the verge of speaking. Could see the words hovering at the corners of his mouth, like something trying to escape.
    â€œWhat is it?” I asked.
    Danny looked at me for a moment. Pressed his lips tight together.
    â€œNothing,” he said finally.
    Why hadn’t I asked again? I wondered now, shivering in my damp clothes. My head felt muzzy and my stomach ached with frustration.
    Why didn’t I make him tell me what was on his mind?
    I inhaled deeply and opened my eyes, blinking in the near darkness. This was pointless, I realized. I was grasping at straws, imagining things where there was nothing to see. Like someone drowning, desperate for something to cling on to.
    Martha’s car was parked outside my house. I could see her silhouette through the windscreen as I walked up the road. As I approached, she leaned over and opened the passenger door.
    â€œHey, Hannah, get in!”
    Too tired to argue, I slid into the front seat beside her. Alice was asleep in the back, her head slumped at an uncomfortable angle.
    â€œJesus, look at you!” Martha gasped. “You’re soaked. What on earth have you been—?”
    Without warning I started to cry, soundlessly, tears rolling down my cheeks, falling onto my sodden clothes. I couldn’t stop. I was gulping for air, my vision blurry, my mind an almost soothing blank of anguish.
    Then Martha was cradling me and I realized she was sobbing too.
    â€œOh, Hanny, I’m so sorry. I came round to see how you were doing.” She pulled my face to look at hers. Pressed my forehead into her shoulder. “And to say again how sorry I am about what I said. You know I didn’t mean it, don’t you?”
    I nodded, sitting up and wiping my nose on my sleeve. She brushed the wet hair from my face.
    â€œCome and have something to eat.”
    Dial House, usually so tidy, was a mess. Piles of clothes heaped by the washing machine, dirty dishes crowding the space next to the dishwasher, the kitchen table covered with mugs and unopened letters. Martha settled Alice on a chair with a colouring book and some crayons, then grabbed the last couple of clean plates, pulling a sponge cake from a bag.
    That surprised me. Martha hated supermarket cakes. She always said they tasted of plastic.
    â€œI had a word with your dad before you turned up.” She unwrapped the sponge and cut it into unappetizing wedges. “He’s worried about you, Hannah.”
    She handed me a slice. It looked like coffee, but I couldn’t be sure. I just hoped it wasn’t ginger.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œHe says you’re taking it badly. About Danny, I mean. Says you’ve barely left the house except to go to school.”
    I thought of