challenge, and Elizabeth Greene was going to be it. The more I thought about it, the more I knew that she would solve everything. I was absolutely convinced that everything was going to be all right. It was my destiny. This was the adventure I had been waiting for, all my life.
The trouble was, I was beginning to despair. I couldn't fall at the first hurdle, but so far, I had no idea where to find her.
Tom ruffled the back of my hair.
'How long have you been there?' I demanded, whipping round. He was wearing a white sweatshirt and black jeans. Tom loved black and white.
'Just got here.'
'How come I haven't seen you for days?'
He dropped his bag and shrugged. 'School. Football. Mates. You know. Life.' He pulled up a chair. 'Found her?'
I shook my head. 'You're younger than me,' I said, pulling my hair back into a ponytail. 'You're good at the internet. You do it.'
'Still putting her name into Google?'
I nodded. 'I think Mother did it on purpose. Gave her a name with hundreds of variations. I've done Elizabeth, Beth, Betty, Lizzie-with-an-"ie", Lizzy-with-a-y, Liz ... And I've trawled through pages and pages of Google for all of them.'
Tom motioned with his head for me to move aside. I stood up and let him take my place. He started typing.
'What are you doing?' I asked him.
'We'll try some other ways,' he said, without looking up. 'First of all, name a few cities.'
'God knows. Brighton, where the letters were addressed? London? Some other cities in England? Erm, Edinburgh? Manchester? New York?'
He looked at me shrewdly. 'You wish.'
'What do you mean?'
'You're going to go and get her.'
'No I'm not.' I knew I didn't sound convincing.
'I'm psychic, I know these things. You're going to bring her to Mother. A little present.'
I looked away. 'You're mad.'
'Well, we'll find her. Don't worry.'
He stared at the screen, a little frown of concentration on his forehead. I twirled a strand of hair around my finger and stood on one foot, feeling anxious. He typed, then sat back and waited.
'Trouble is, there are millions of E. Greenes in all those places, and she might not even be one of them. She's probably married by now and changed her name. Let's try narrowing down Google a bit.'
'How? Type "my mother abandoned me" next to her name?'
We stared at each other, both frustrated.
'Try us,' I said. 'See if we exist online. If we don't, she might not, either. Then we could try to find her the old-fashioned way.'
Tom snorted. 'Which is?'
I sucked my lip and tried to think of an answer. 'Hire a private detective!' I said triumphantly. 'Follow the paper trail! Start with the address on the envelopes and take it from there.'
'Are we going to put you in a beret and send you slinking around England smoking a cigarette and stumbling on clues?' He rolled his eyes. 'Do private detectives even exist? Aren't they just a construct serving the various branches of the fiction industry?' He pointed at the screen. 'Hey, here you are! Helen Labenne — you're on the school site.'
'Jesus. What for?' I wanted to tell him off for talking like a professor when he was fifteen years old, but this was too interesting, so I let it drop.
'Ummm. Hang on, just clicking it. Here we go. Bordeaux International School. Why in God's name did they put you on there? You are in a long list, I must say.' He smiled. 'A long list of students who passed the International Bac last year. So, in fact, everyone.'
'Cheers. What about you?'
He tapped some more. 'As far as the World Wide Web's concerned, I don't exist. Not as Tom, and not as Thomas, not even anyone else with my name. Anyway, let's get back to our big sister. She's nearly forty. The internet must have heard of her by now.'
Ten fruitless minutes later, the phone rang. I picked it up reluctantly, because I knew who it was going to be.
'Helen,' said Mother. 'It's nearly lunchtime.'
'OK,' I mumbled. 'Be there in a bit.'
Sunday lunch was a ritual of my parents', and while I was living at home,
The trouble was, I was beginning to despair. I couldn't fall at the first hurdle, but so far, I had no idea where to find her.
Tom ruffled the back of my hair.
'How long have you been there?' I demanded, whipping round. He was wearing a white sweatshirt and black jeans. Tom loved black and white.
'Just got here.'
'How come I haven't seen you for days?'
He dropped his bag and shrugged. 'School. Football. Mates. You know. Life.' He pulled up a chair. 'Found her?'
I shook my head. 'You're younger than me,' I said, pulling my hair back into a ponytail. 'You're good at the internet. You do it.'
'Still putting her name into Google?'
I nodded. 'I think Mother did it on purpose. Gave her a name with hundreds of variations. I've done Elizabeth, Beth, Betty, Lizzie-with-an-"ie", Lizzy-with-a-y, Liz ... And I've trawled through pages and pages of Google for all of them.'
Tom motioned with his head for me to move aside. I stood up and let him take my place. He started typing.
'What are you doing?' I asked him.
'We'll try some other ways,' he said, without looking up. 'First of all, name a few cities.'
'God knows. Brighton, where the letters were addressed? London? Some other cities in England? Erm, Edinburgh? Manchester? New York?'
He looked at me shrewdly. 'You wish.'
'What do you mean?'
'You're going to go and get her.'
'No I'm not.' I knew I didn't sound convincing.
'I'm psychic, I know these things. You're going to bring her to Mother. A little present.'
I looked away. 'You're mad.'
'Well, we'll find her. Don't worry.'
He stared at the screen, a little frown of concentration on his forehead. I twirled a strand of hair around my finger and stood on one foot, feeling anxious. He typed, then sat back and waited.
'Trouble is, there are millions of E. Greenes in all those places, and she might not even be one of them. She's probably married by now and changed her name. Let's try narrowing down Google a bit.'
'How? Type "my mother abandoned me" next to her name?'
We stared at each other, both frustrated.
'Try us,' I said. 'See if we exist online. If we don't, she might not, either. Then we could try to find her the old-fashioned way.'
Tom snorted. 'Which is?'
I sucked my lip and tried to think of an answer. 'Hire a private detective!' I said triumphantly. 'Follow the paper trail! Start with the address on the envelopes and take it from there.'
'Are we going to put you in a beret and send you slinking around England smoking a cigarette and stumbling on clues?' He rolled his eyes. 'Do private detectives even exist? Aren't they just a construct serving the various branches of the fiction industry?' He pointed at the screen. 'Hey, here you are! Helen Labenne — you're on the school site.'
'Jesus. What for?' I wanted to tell him off for talking like a professor when he was fifteen years old, but this was too interesting, so I let it drop.
'Ummm. Hang on, just clicking it. Here we go. Bordeaux International School. Why in God's name did they put you on there? You are in a long list, I must say.' He smiled. 'A long list of students who passed the International Bac last year. So, in fact, everyone.'
'Cheers. What about you?'
He tapped some more. 'As far as the World Wide Web's concerned, I don't exist. Not as Tom, and not as Thomas, not even anyone else with my name. Anyway, let's get back to our big sister. She's nearly forty. The internet must have heard of her by now.'
Ten fruitless minutes later, the phone rang. I picked it up reluctantly, because I knew who it was going to be.
'Helen,' said Mother. 'It's nearly lunchtime.'
'OK,' I mumbled. 'Be there in a bit.'
Sunday lunch was a ritual of my parents', and while I was living at home,
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