Gone Missing

by Jean Ure

  “Just keep your eyes on the road,” I said Honey. “I don’t want you falling off. We can’t run away if you’ve got a broken leg!”

  She immediately sat bolt upright, pedalling with grim determination, her eyes fixed straight ahead.

  “Have you got any money?” I said. I hoped she had! My pathetic little amount wouldn’t take us very far. “Have you brought any?”

  “Yes.” She nodded, vigorously. The bike went veering off again.

  “How much?”

  “Fifty pounds.”

  “What?”

  “Fifty pounds,” said Honey.

  I stared at her, unbelieving. “Where’d you get fifty pounds from?”

  “Took it out my mum’s purse.”

  I was, like, gobsmacked. Honey just didn’t do that sort of thing! She was far too timid. She’d even been scared when I’d tried giving her some of the stuff I’d nicked from Woolie’s, during my bad-girl period with Darcy. She’d been convinced the police were going to come and arrest her. Now here she was, calmly helping herself to the contents of her mum’s purse!

  “It’s all right.” Honey wobbled again; in my direction, this time. “It’s not stealing!”

  How did she work that out???

  “It’s only what Mum would have had to spend on me anyway. Like if I was still at home,” said Honey. “She’d have to get food for me, and clothes and stuff. So I’ve just saved her the trouble.”

  I was quite struck by this argument. It had never occurred to me to see it that way! Honey looked pleased.

  “I’d have taken more,” she said, “but it was all she had.”

  I said that it was probably just as well. “Anything over fifty and it starts getting a bit heavy.”

  She insisted again that it wasn’t stealing.

  “I wouldn’t steal. Not from my own mum. I wouldn’t steal from anybody! I just took whatever it would have cost if I’d still been there. That’s not the same as stealing.”

  I said, “Of course it’s not,” and “Of course you wouldn’t,” and “That’s absolutely right,” but it didn’t stop her keeping on about it. She was still going on when we reached Market Norton.

  Honey could be maddening like that. She could be maddening in lots of ways, actually. Every now and again it used to get on my nerves and I’d snarl at her–and then immediately wish that I hadn’t. Everybody has their faults–I’m sure I have simply loads–but Honey was so sweet, and so good-natured, and so eager to please. I don’t remember her ever once being nasty about anyone. She never made unkind remarks, like the rest of us did. I wish I’d been nicer to her! There were lots of times when I was mean. Like for instance when I said that we should dump our bikes in the hedge and walk up the hill to the station, and she gave me this reproachful look and said, “We can’t just dump them!”

  I said, “Why can’t we?”

  “Cos that really would be stealing,” said Honey.

  That’s when I got mean. I said, “Look, just stop with all this stealing thing, you’re driving me nuts! This is my bike, and I can do what I like with it. And that’s Kirsty’s, and she doesn’t even use it any more. In any case, look at the state of it!”

  Even then, she had to go and argue with me, saying why couldn’t we leave them at the station so they could be found and given back? I snapped, “Cos we don’t want them to be found! We’re supposed to be running away. Right? We don’t want them coming after us before we’ve even got anywhere! For goodness’ sake!”

  Honey shut up then. We dumped the bikes where I said, and walked on up the hill. Because it was Sunday, there were hardly any people about. There was no one at all at the station, just me and Honey. According to the indicator board there was a train due in five minutes, and I have to say that that was a great relief. I’d been a bit worried about the trains, to tell the truth, cos they don’t have that many on a Sunday. If we’d have missed the 15:18, we’d have had to wait over four hours for the next one. I don’t what we’d have done. Gone into hiding, or something. I said to Honey that I thought luck was on our side.

  “Incidentally,” I said, “did you bring your phone with you?”

  She nodded, eagerly.

  “Well, just make sure you don’t use it,” I said. “In fact, give it me! I’ll take care of it for you.” I had this feeling they could trace people through their mobiles; I was sure I’d seen it on the telly. “It might even be best if we just junked them,” I said.

  Honey’s lip quivered. “Junk our phones?”

  “Yes! But wait till we’re on the train, we can chuck them out the window. They’re no use to us,” I said. “Not unless you want to get caught and dragged back home again?”

  “No!”

  “OK, so gimme your phone.”

  Obediently, she handed it over. I could tell she wasn’t happy about it, cos Honey’s phone was her pride and joy, but we simply couldn’t afford to take any chances.

  “Don’t worry, we can always get new ones later on,” I said.

  Honey opened her mouth to say “How?” I knew she was going to say how; all she ever did was ask questions that I couldn’t answer. Extremely annoying. I told her again not to worry.

  “It’ll all work out. Look, here’s the train!”

  The ticket office was closed, which meant we had to buy our tickets on board. I should have told Honey that I would get them for both of us; I just didn’t think. It was nearly a disaster! When the ticket man came round and asked us where we were going, Honey went and jumped in before I even had a chance to open my mouth. Very loudly and firmly she said, “I want a ticket to Glasgow!” And then she promptly clapped a hand to her mouth and squawked, “I mean, L—”

  “New Street.” I got it in just in time. Another second and she’d have blurted it out. “Two singles to New Street.”

  “Not London?” She whispered it at me, but by then there was no one to hear. The ticket man had gone, and the rest of the train was deserted. “I thought we were going to London!”

  I said, “We are, but we don’t want him to know.”

  “Oh.” Honey thought about it a while. “In case he tells someone?”

  “Yes, cos he’s bound to remember us. As soon as he sees our pictures—”

  “What pictures?” Honey sounded alarmed.

  “The ones they’ll put on telly, asking if anyone’s seen us. But it’s all right! He’ll think we’re going to Glasgow. I want a ticket to Glasgow–oh!” I clapped a hand to my mouth and gazed at her in anguish over the top of it. Honey grinned. “Great bread crumb!” I said.

  Euston

  four

  When we got to New Street, I said to Honey that we had to split up. She stared at me, wildly. I could tell she was about to go into panic mode.

  “Honey, we have to!” I said. “People will remember if there are two of us.” I told her to go off and buy a ticket. “You know what to ask for…a single to London. Yes?”

  She nodded, uncertainly.

  “Say it!”

  “A single to London.”

  “London Euston.”

  “London Euston. Then what do I do?”

  “Then you follow me down to the platform and we wait for the train. But we have to sit in different compartments. We don’t know each other! We’re nothing to do with each other. So don’t come and talk to me, or anything.”

  She munched on her lip. “What about when we get there?”

  “We get off separately and go through the barrier. You’ll know when to get off cos it’s the end of the line. The train doesn’t go any further.”

  Still she dithered.

  “Look, just do it!” I said. I gave her a little push. The longer we stood around, the more chance there was of someone noticing us. “London Euston!”

  Reluctantly, she moved off. I could hear her muttering it to herself: London Euston, London Euston. I waited till a couple more people had joined the queue then slipped in behind, where I could keep an eye on her. I was a bit tensed up, as you
never quite knew with Honey. She was just as likely to turn round at the last minute and give a joyous shout of “LONDON EUSTON”. Fortunately she didn’t, but she did flash me this triumphant beam as she walked off with her ticket. I pretended not to know her. I even looked around, making like I was trying to see who she was beaming at.

  When my turn came the ticket man eyed me most suspiciously, like “Why is someone your age buying a ticket to London?” I stared at him, haughtily. What was it to him, how old I was? I had the money. He was just there to sell tickets! In any case, he ought to be glad that I was using the train. We could have thumbed lifts and saved on fares, but I knew not to do that. Getting lifts from strangers was dangerous and irresponsible. I had Honey to think of! He had absolutely no right to look at me like I was some kind of delinquent.

  I clawed up my ticket and stalked off to look at the departure boards. I’d only been down to London once, with Mum and Dad last year, but it wasn’t the first time I’d been to New Street. I knew my way around! I could hear the slop, slap of Honey’s sandals close behind me. Too close; she was practically treading on my heels. As I turned away from the departure boards I almost bumped into her. I hissed, “Keep away! Hang back!”

  There was a train at 15:45. Quarter to four in normal speak. We might just catch it if we hurried. I didn’t dare to run, or Honey would go and trip over, for sure, but I walked as fast as I could. I heard the slop, slap coming after me and knew she was managing to keep up. I didn’t expect her to go and jump on the train on top of me, but at least she was on. I pulled an agonised face and mouthed, “Move further down!”

  When I wandered along the train a bit later, in search of the loo, I saw Honey sitting scrunched up in a corner seat, clutching her rucksack very tightly with both hands, like she expected someone to snatch it off her at any moment. I wished I could tell her to stop looking so scared. It was a dead give-away! Exactly the sort of thing that would jog people’s memories. A young girl on the train, looking frightened…

  On the way back from the loo I tried my best not to notice her, but I could feel her eyes kind of boring into me. I shifted my gaze very slightly and gave her this big grin. It was meant to reassure, but as I turned at the end of the compartment, to look back, I saw this pale face, all anguished, and these beseeching eyes fixed on me. I thought, Honey, for goodness’ sake!

  It wasn’t her fault. She had never in her life been to London; I don’t think she’d ever even been on a train journey, other than just locally. I knew how timid she was, and how easily things scared her. Just for a minute I was tempted to go and sit with her and tell her that everything was going to be all right. I resisted, however. It wasn’t like she was in any danger–unless she did something totally daft, such as getting off the train before we arrived in London. Which surely she wouldn’t? Or would she? That was the problem with Honey: you could never be quite certain. I decided that if we stopped anywhere, I would just have to keep a watch out.

  I was beginning to realise that having Honey with me was more of a burden than I’d imagined. Not that I resented it; I hardly could. She may have been the one who’d said “Let’s go!” but I was the one who’d put the idea in her head. I knew I had to take responsibility.

  When the ticket inspector came round I asked him what time we got to Euston and he said five minutes past six. Still almost two hours away! Two hours is a long time to just sit and do nothing. I wished I’d bought some magazines to read, but we’d been in too much of a rush to catch the train. I’m not good at doing nothing; I guess I’m quite an impatient sort of person. Maybe I’d go along to the restaurant car and buy a Coke and a KitKat and check on Honey.

  Oh, God! She was talking to someone. A woman, thank heavens; not a man. But bad enough she was talking at all. Goodness only knew what she would be telling them! I turned and she looked up. I gave an angry jerk of the head and set off towards the restaurant car. I heard Honey following me.

  “What are you doing?” I hissed. “What are you talking to that woman about?”

  Honey said, “Nothing! Her daughter’s just had a baby.”

  “Well, stop it! You’re not supposed to be talking to anyone. She’ll remember you.”

  Honey’s face fell. I immediately felt guilty. No one, but no one, could look as pathetic and crestfallen as Honey.

  I said, “Go and sit in another part of the train! And don’t talk to anybody. Just stay put until we get there.”

  Honey scuttled away, frightened. I knew I’d been mean, but it had to be done. There was no point laying trails all the way to Glasgow then dropping huge great crumbs that led to London.

  I went back to my seat and carefully broke my KitKat into eight pieces. I thought that I would eat one piece every quarter of an hour, until we got there.

  It was what I used to do at school when we had a particularly tedious and boring lesson to get through. Maths, for instance. Geography. I’d count out ten Smarties and pop one into my mouth every five minutes, or I’d screw ten scraps of paper into tiny little balls and move them one by one from the right-hand side of my desk to the left, or even just mark off the minutes in my rough book. Pathetic, really, but you have to do something to pass the time.

  As I savoured my first bite of KitKat, I wondered if I’d been stupid, asking the ticket inspector what time we arrived. The more I thought about it, the more I thought it had been a really dumb thing to do. I wanted to kick myself! There I was, telling Honey off for drawing attention to us, and I’d gone and done exactly the same thing. After all my planning! I made up my mind that from that moment on I would be doubly cautious and check every single action before I made it. I’d seen enough cop shows to know how the police operated. Once they’d got started on an investigation, they left no stone unturned.

  I knew in the end they’d discover we’d gone to London. They’d show our pictures on television, and someone would be bound to recognise us. Oh, that’s the girl that was on the train! That’s the girl that bought the ticket. If I’d really planned it properly, we’d have worn wigs and dark glasses. We’d have had bags full of disguises!

  I got quite carried away, thinking up all the different disguises we could have used. All the different wigs and glasses. Dark glasses, ordinary glasses. Funny glasses like you get in joke shops, the sort that make your eyes look as if they’re in a goldfish bowl. Funny teeth. Sticky-out ones and pointy ones and great doorstep ones. We could even have stuffed cotton wool in our cheeks, and padded our bras with rolled-up socks.

  I fantasised for a bit, seeing myself with a huge inflated bosom and a long blonde wig. I have always fancied having a big bosom. I don’t know why; it is just something that appeals. I suppose there is still time, though as Mum has bosoms the size of grapenuts I don’t really hold out very much hope.

  I looked at my watch, thinking that by now I must be well overdue my next bit of KitKat. To my considerable irritation, I found that there were still another six minutes to go. How slowly time passed! I couldn’t even study other people, which is what I sometimes like to do. I imagine how they might look, for instance, without any clothes on. Not in any rude sort of way. Just, like, whether they would have chest hair or a saggy belly or something. Other times I mentally dress them up in different clothes. I enjoy doing that! I have quite a good dress sense, I think. But today I didn’t dare look at anybody for fear of drawing attention. I just stared glumly out of the window and watched the boring countryside flash by.

  I ate a second bit of KitKat and tried to get back into my fantasy. Me in a blond wig, with big bosoms! It didn’t work. All I could see was me as I am, which is dark-haired and and somewhat on the skinny side. I wondered which photograph they would use when they put us on television. “The two missing teenagers.” We’d probably be in the papers, as well. I hoped Mum wouldn’t give them my last school photograph. It was me in the netball team, when I’d gone and blinked at just the wrong moment. I’d also, for some weird reason, been waving my lips about, like a horse when it ya
wns. God, I hoped she didn’t give them that one! I wouldn’t want that splashed all over the place for everyone to see.

  Maybe she’d give them the nice one that Auntie Claire had taken at Christmas. My hair had just been washed, so it was all shiny and bouncy, and I was smiling straight into the camera and looking–though I say it myself–rather like Jennifer Lopez. Actually, I wasn’t the one that said it, Auntie Claire was.

  “Well, will you look at that! J-Lo’s double!”

  Dad, of course, hadn’t a clue who Jennifer Lopez was, and had to have it explained to him. He was distinctly not impressed; he doesn’t rate movie stars. He almost certainly wouldn’t let Mum give them my J-Lo photo. He’d make her give them the hideous netball one. A truly depressing thought.

  I wondered what Honey was doing. Please God don’t let her be talking to anyone! I felt that really I ought to go and check on her again, but I’d already been up and down the train twice, once to the loo and once to the restaurant car. People would start to notice if I wasn’t careful.

  I gobbled down my next bit of KitKat two minutes early and forced myself to stay in my seat. I tried to picture the scene where Mum and Dad came on television to weep and say how much they loved me and wanted me back. Please, Jade! Wherever you are…just come back to us!

  Dad would have to say it, too; not just Mum. He would have to say, “All is forgiven.” And maybe say he was sorry for the way he’d treated me.

  No! Dad would never do that. He wasn’t the sort of person to apologise. Even fantasies have to have some sort of basis in reality. Well, mine do. I’d be prepared to settle for him saying that all was forgiven and he wanted me back. If he said that, then maybe I’d go. Maybe. Possibly. I’d have to see how things worked out. After all, we hadn’t even got to London yet! Still another forty-two minutes to go…

  We got there. At last! As I stood waiting for the doors to open, I saw Honey anxiously lumbering up. Now what was she doing? She was supposed to keep her distance! At least I knew she was still on the train; that was some comfort.