“Okay, fine,” said Bailey, turning back to the computer. “So let’s say we find out where this boy Dilan lives. How’s that going to help exactly?”
“Blimey, Bailey! I thought you were the one with all the ideas. If we find Dilan, we can go round there and give him a note to give to Lizzie explaining exactly what’s going on – and then she can give him a note to give back to me. Her parents already know him so he’ll be the perfect go-between. Simples!”
Finding Lizzie’s street turned out to be really easy. The clues led us straight there. Bailey had printed out a map of the area around Glendale High on the computer and we found a Cromwell Road and a Cromwell Close both within easy walking distance. I wanted to catch the bus and look for the house right away, but Bailey was off to visit his grandparents for the weekend so we arranged to meet up first thing Monday morning.
Mum was up and about and busy again by the time I got home, unpacking and organizing the house. I was dying to tell her that I’d spoken to Uncle Ron and that I knew Dad wasn’t really staying there, but I had this horrible feeling that if I confronted her she might say something about Dad and the death of Lizzie’s brother. Something I really didn’t want to hear. I just wished I knew where he was. It was bad enough when I’d thought he was staying at Uncle Ron’s, but knowing now that he could be literally anywhere was a hundred times worse.
I started to wonder about Aidan too. Why he never came round any more and why he’d always had such a terrible relationship with Dad. One of my earliest memories is of Aidan yelling at Dad across the kitchen table, while I sat with my hands pressed over my ears. I just remember Aidan being angry all the time, while Dad refused to rise to the bait. Was it because Aidan knew something about Dad and Lizzie’s brother? Is that what all their rows were about?
He is twenty-four now and I hardly ever see him. Nan had moved into his bedroom after my granddad Harry died. It was supposed to have been for a few weeks, until she got used to being on her own, but it had been more than a year now and she was still with us. Bit by bit, over the months, I’d helped Mum to box up some stuff Aidan still had at home, and he’d finally come over to shift it just after that awful row with Dad at Christmas.
That was the last time he’d been round. Eight months ago. Mum had begged him to come for a meal on her birthday but he’d said he had other plans. It was a miserable day. Mum moped about for hours, hoping he’d change his mind and show up to surprise her, and then ended up getting furious with Dad, saying it was his fault that Aidan didn’t want to be with his family, and that he was the only one who could put things right.
I didn’t pay much attention at the time – it was only now, looking back, that I started to wonder what Mum meant, and if it had anything to do with the holiday in Spain ten years ago. Aidan would’ve been fourteen the year Luke died. Old enough to remember what really happened. Did he know something about Dad? Is that what Mum meant when she said only Dad could put things right?
I thought Monday would never come. I had no idea if Aidan had contacted Bailey on Facebook, or if he was even on Facebook, or if we’d ever find Dilan’s house and get a message to Lizzie. The plan seemed less and less likely to work as the hours crawled by. For all we knew, Dilan could be away for the whole summer – or even if we did manage to find the right house, and he was there, he might refuse to take the message to Lizzie.
I came very close to texting Bailey at his grandparents’ to tell him to forget the whole idea, but I didn’t want him to think I was wimping out, or being “defeatist”, as he put it. He was so convinced we’d hear something back from Aidan, I had to go along with it, however far-fetched it seemed.
I kept the note to Lizzie really short, just writing that I’d read her diary and was trying to contact my brother to find out the truth. I also asked whether she believed what her dad had said about my dad. I was terrified she’d say she did, but I had to know.
I was up and out of the house by nine on Monday morning. Mum had left for work and Nan was still in bed, so it was easy to get away. I was praying Bailey would be ready to go, but he was still eating his breakfast.
“We didn’t get back until really late,” he said, gulping down the rest of his cereal. “The traffic was terrible and then we had to stop about three times so my mum could go to the loo, and—”
“It’s alright, I don’t need all the details,” I said, interrupting him. “Just hurry up, can’t you? Dilan might go out for the day if we don’t get there soon.”
“Okay, calm down. I’m coming. Have you written the message?”
I nodded, hopping from foot to foot, impatient to get going. “Yes, it’s in my bag. Come on, let’s go.”
The bus came straight away. It was the 243, the same bus I caught every morning to go to school. A familiar feeling of dread settled over me. My stomach was in knots. So much rested on us finding Dilan and getting the message to Lizzie. I really needed to know that she was okay and that she didn’t believe that Dad had anything to do with Luke’s death.
We got off right near Glendale High and followed Bailey’s map until we came to Cromwell Road. It was a really long street and I could see straight away that none of the houses had front gardens. I stopped to look at the map again. “Lizzie said Dilan was always out front, in the garden, messing about with his bike, so it can’t be this one. Let’s try Cromwell Close.”
Cromwell Close was just off Cromwell Road. It was a quiet no-through road with about twenty houses. The houses were much bigger than in Cromwell Road and they all had massive front gardens with gravel paths and fancy-shaped bushes. Our house could have easily fitted inside any one of these houses two or three times over!
“This must be it,” I whispered, as if Dilan, or even worse, Lizzie’s dad, might appear at any moment. “Let’s start at the bottom and walk up, checking each garden as we go.”
It felt really weird walking up the road, not knowing if Lizzie might be home – or if she might even be watching us through her bedroom window. We peered into every garden; all of them neat and tidy with carefully mowed lawns – so perfect, it was impossible to tell them apart. I didn’t care how defeatist I sounded – the whole plan was ridiculous.
“This is hopeless. We’re never going to find it, not in a million years.”
“Hang on a minute,” said Bailey, pointing at the first house on the other side of the close. “That’s on the corner, right? And look in the garden...”
The house on the corner had a massive front garden like all the others. And in the garden there was a dismantled bike, the handlebars lying on the ground next to one of the wheels. I didn’t know how we’d missed it first time round. I grabbed Bailey’s arm, my heart banging in my chest. “You go and knock on the door,” I hissed. “I’m too scared.”
“Don’t be stupid. Lizzie’s your friend. You need to do it.”
I shook my head, pulling the note out of my pocket. It was in an envelope, with Lizzie’s name written across the front. “Please, Bailey. What if his dad answers? What if he wants to know how I know Dilan? I’ll mess it up, I know I will. It’s my one chance to make contact with Lizzie and I’ll mess it up.”
“Holy Maloney, Bee, get a grip! You’re not going to mess it up. Just because Lizzie’s dad’s a bit psycho, it doesn’t mean Dilan’s dad will be too.” He pushed me towards the house. “Go on, you can do it.”
He was right. I had to pull myself together, for Lizzie’s sake; for the sake of our friendship. It didn’t matter what Dilan’s dad was like. I was just a girl, knocking on the door with a message for Lizzie. It was no big deal. There was no time to freak out. I had to be strong. I pushed back my shoulders, took a deep breath and walked up the path.
A boy opened the door. He was seriously cute; very tall, with spiky black hair and a small gold stud in his left ear. I had no idea if he was Dilan or his younger brother, Danesh.
“Dilan?” I said, taking a chance, my fingers crossed behind my back. He looked me up and down, nodding.
“Erm, you don’t know me, but I’m a friend of Lizzie Munroe. My name’s Bee.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment. It was really awkward. I was certain he was going to shut the door in my face, or say “Lizzie who?” but after what seemed like an age he smiled and said, “Hi, Bee. What’s up?”
He listened really carefully as I explained the whole story – well, not the whole story, just that I’d met Lizzie in Spain, and I needed to speak to her but her dad had forbidden us to have any contact with each other. He asked loads of questions, like what was in the note and how could I be so sure she wanted to see me again. I told him as much as I could without mentioning Luke or my dad and what was really going on.
“She lives at number 12,” he said in the end, “just a few houses up on the left. Why don’t you just put the note through the door yourself? I haven’t spoken to Lizzie for years.”
“Because I won’t know if she gets it – what if her dad reads it first? And because I was wondering if you might be able to bring a note back from her so that I know she’s okay. The last time I saw her, the night before we left Spain, she was really scared.”
He looked over my head at Bailey. I wouldn’t have blamed him for a second if he thought it was some sort of massive wind-up.
“She told me all about you,” I added in desperation. “About how you guys used to have lessons together with her mum and how much fun it was...” I trailed off, trying to remember what else she’d said, apart from the fact that she really liked him.
“Okay then, I’ll do it.”
My head snapped up. “Really?”
Dilan nodded. “Give me the note and wait for me here, in the garden. I’ll go up there now. I don’t know if I’ll get past her dad, he’s really strict, but I’ll do my best.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
I was lying on Luke’s bed, staring at the photo of us that day at the picnic. I’d started to spend most of my spare time in his room, mainly because it was the best place to hide away from Dad. Sometimes I just lay there thinking about everything that had happened, but sometimes I found myself chatting to him. I didn’t expect him to answer or anything, I just liked to tell him stuff – like how much I was missing Bee and how awful things were at home.
I used to blame Luke for everything. I thought it was his fault that Dad was such a nightmare and that Mum was so sad all the time, and that I had to be homeschooled. I was convinced he’d ruined everything. I wanted Mum and Dad to forget about him; to stop missing him so much, to remember they had a daughter who deserved a normal life. I know it sounds awful but I hated having a dead brother.
But something had changed. Lying on his bed, staring at the photo of him with his orange-peel mouth, I started to miss Luke for the first time. I remember my grandma saying once that I was just like him; she said I had his spirit. I didn’t take much notice back then, it was just another boring conversation about Luke, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it now. Maybe he was a bit wild and maybe he did get into trouble at school, but that didn’t mean he was a bad person.
Dad’s temper had been worse than ever since we got back from Spain – the slightest thing could set him off. I desperately wanted to ask him about Aidan and Luke and whether they’d been friends, but I knew I’d have to pick my moment very carefully if I was going to get him to reveal anything about Luke and the past.
I’d tried talking to him while we were working on my poem in literacy. I asked him if Luke and Bee’s brother, Aidan, used to hang out together. He’d looked up from the book he was flicking through, his eyes like lasers. “Write about Luke if you want,” he said, “but leave the Brooks family out of it.” His eyes stayed fixed on my face.
“But were they friends?” I persisted, doing my best to keep my voice steady. I was shaking inside but I forced myself to carry on. “Were they even the same age?”
“I mean it, Lizzie.” He leaned so far forward his face was practically touching mine. “Don’t mention them again, ever. Is that clear?”
“Not really,” I muttered under my breath, but I didn’t dare ask again.
He was just as angry with Mum. I could hear them arguing now. They were in the kitchen, so I could only catch snatches of what they were saying, but it was something to do with Bee’s mum again. I crept out of Luke’s room and crouched at the top of the stairs. Dad was shouting, his words bouncing off the walls like bullets.
“It wasn’t just a coincidence that she was there at the same time as us, was it? You pretended to be so shocked that you bumped into her at the market, but you knew all along!”
I couldn’t hear if Mum said anything back – she was probably crying anyway – but I could hear Dad as loud and clear as if he was standing right in front of me.
“How could you be so stupid?” he yelled. “Why did you go behind my back? What good did you think would come of it?”
I shrank back against the wall, as if he was shouting at me, but then there was a crash and I knew I had to do something. I raced down the stairs and burst into the kitchen. Someone had to protect Mum from Dad’s temper. They both spun round to look at me. Mum was by the sink, a broken plate on the floor, and Dad was on the other side of the room, his arms up in the air, as if he’d been waving them about.
“Go to your room, Lizzie,” he said, his voice low and menacing.
“No, I don’t want to.” I stood there with my arms folded, pretending I wasn’t scared, even though my heart was racing a million miles a minute.
He took a step towards me. “Now, Lizzie. Don’t make me say it again.”
“Go on, Lizzie,” said Mum. “We were just talking. Everything’s fine.” She was wringing her hands, her eyes brimming with tears.
I shook my head, looking back at Dad – standing up to him for the first time in my life. “I’m sorry, but I’m not going to my room. I want to know what’s going on. I want to know what you were talking about – how Mum went behind your back. I’ve got a right to know.”
I thought Dad was going to explode. “GET UP TO YOUR ROOM!” he roared, taking another step towards me. But I shook my head again, trying not to cry. My feet were rooted to the kitchen floor. “It doesn’t matter how much you shout and get angry and bully us,” I said, my voice rising. “It won’t bring Luke back.”
There was a sudden, terrible silence. Mum rushed over, standing between me and Dad as if she was scared he was going to hit me, but Dad had gone limp, his face crumpled up like an old tissue.
“Just go, Lizzie!” cried Mum. “Go on, do what your father says.”
I shifted to the side so I could lock eyes with Dad. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know whether to go or stand my ground. I didn’t want to make things worse for Mum but I was so sick of the way Dad’s moods dominated everything. My brain felt scrambled up – I couldn’t think straight, or move or speak or anything. There was so much I wanted to say but I was paralysed.
And then, out of the blue, the doorbell rang; loud and shrill in the silence.
“I’ll get it!” I cried, lurching forward, the awful spell broken.
“Just leave it!” warned Dad.
But it was too late. I slipped out of the kitchen and down the hall towards the front door. Dad couldn’t carry on shouting at me if someone else was here, even if it was only the postman or the man who comes to read the meter. Mum and Dad bolted after me. Dad pushed past Mum and reached for my arm, but he wasn’t quick enough. I got to the door first and pulled it open.
The three of us stood there, staring at the boy on the doorstep. My heart started to race even faster. It wasn’t the postman or the meter man. It was Dilan.
Time seemed to stand still. I know people are always saying that, but it’s true – it can really happen. Dilan stood on the doorstep and I stood in front of him and Mum and Dad stood behind me and it was as if we’d all forgotten how to speak or move or even blink. I wondered if he’d heard Dad shouting – if that was why he’d knocked on the door. I tried to think of something to
say, anything, but my mind was completely blank.
It was Mum who recovered first. She slipped past Dad and pulled me to one side so she could greet Dilan properly.
“What a lovely surprise,” she said. “How are you, Dilan? How are your mum and dad?”
Dilan smiled. “Fine, thank you, Mrs. Munroe. We’re all fine.” He looked nervous, frightened even. Not the confident, cheeky boy I remembered from our lessons.
“I’m going up to my study,” said Dad, turning away. “And I don’t want to be disturbed. I’ll be down in half an hour for maths, okay, Lizzie?”
I glanced back at him, nodding.
“Don’t worry, we’ll be as quiet as we can,” said Mum, as Dad went up. “Come in, Dilan. Would you like a drink?”
“Just some water, if that’s okay,” said Dilan. He was staring at me; his eyes fixed on mine as he stepped into the house, closing the door behind him. My face started to burn up. What was he doing here? Why was he coming in? He hadn’t spoken a word to me for the past five years and now suddenly he was standing in my house.
Mum went back to the kitchen. I wanted to say something but my mouth was too dry. We were strangers. I’d been dreaming about him for months and months, desperate to talk to him, but so much time had passed since we’d had our lessons together, it was as if we’d never met before.
“We’ve just got back from Spain,” I said in the end. I don’t know why, but it was better than standing there in silence.
“I know,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
He opened his mouth to speak but Mum popped her head round the kitchen door. “Come on, you two. How about a slice of cake or a biscuit?”
The second she turned back into the kitchen, Dilan pulled me towards him. “Listen, Lizzie, I’ve just met your friend Bee.”
“Bee?” My chest was tight suddenly, as if my lungs had stopped working.
“Look, she’s written this note to you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. “She wants you to read it and write back to her, now, while I’m here. I’ll sit with your mum for a bit, but hurry up.” He thrust the envelope at me and walked into the kitchen.
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